THE MARROW OF TRADITION

by Charles W. Chestnutt1901

CONTENTS

I. At Break of DayII. The Christening PartyIII. The Editor at WorkIV. Theodore FelixV. A Journey SouthwardVI. JanetVII. The OperationVIII. The Campaign dragsIX. A White Man's "Nigger"X. Delamere Plays a TrumpXI. The Baby and the BirdXII. Another Southern ProductXIII. The CakewalkXIV. The Maunderings of Old Mrs. OchiltreeXV. Mrs. Carteret Seeks an ExplanationXVI. Ellis Takes a TrickXVII. The Social Aspirations of Captain McBaneXVIII. Sandy Sees His Own Ha'ntXIX. A Midnight WalkXX. A Shocking CrimeXXI. The Necessity of an ExampleXXII. How Not to Prevent a LynchingXXIII. BelleviewXXIV. Two Southern GentlemenXXV. The Honor of a FamilyXXVI. The Discomfort of EllisXXVII. The Vagaries of the Higher LawXXVIII. In Season and OutXXIX. Mutterings of the StormXXX. The Missing PapersXXXI. The Shadow of a DreamXXXII. The Storm breaksXXXIII. Into the Lion's JawsXXXIV. The Valley of the ShadowXXXV. "Mine Enemy, O Mine Enemy!"XXXVI. Fiat JustitiaXXXVII. 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 oldJane. "

The night was hot and sultry. Though the windows of the chamber werewide open, and the muslin curtains looped back, not a breath of air wasstirring. Only the shrill chirp of the cicada and the muffled croakingof the frogs in some distant marsh broke the night silence. The heavyscent of magnolias, overpowering even the strong smell of drugs in thesickroom, suggested death and funeral wreaths, sorrow and tears, thelong home, the last sleep. The major shivered with apprehension as theslender hand which he held in his own contracted nervously and in aspasm of pain clutched his fingers with a viselike grip. 

Major Carteret, though dressed in brown linen, had thrown off his coatfor greater comfort. The stifling heat, in spite of the palm-leaf fanwhich he plied mechanically, was scarcely less oppressive than his ownthoughts. Long ago, while yet a mere boy in years, he had come back fromAppomattox to find his family, one of the oldest and proudest in thestate, hopelessly impoverished by the war, --even their ancestral homeswallowed up in the common ruin. His elder brother had sacrificed hislife on the bloody altar of the lost cause, and his father, broken andchagrined, died not many years later, leaving the major the last of hisline. He had tried in various pursuits to gain a foothold in the newlife, but with indifferent success until he won the hand of OliviaMerkell, whom he had seen grow from a small girl to glorious womanhood. With her money he had founded the Morning Chronicle, which he had madethe leading organ of his party and the most influential paper in theState. The fine old house in which they lived was hers. In this veryroom she had first drawn the breath of life; it had been their nuptialchamber; and here, too, within a few hours, she might die, for it seemedimpossible that one could long endure such frightful agony and live. 

One cloud alone had marred the otherwise perfect serenity of theirhappiness. Olivia was childless. To have children to perpetuate the nameof which he was so proud, to write it still higher on the roll ofhonor, had been his dearest hope. His disappointment had beenproportionately keen. A few months ago this dead hope had revived, andaltered the whole aspect of their lives. But as time went on, his wife'sage had begun to tell upon her, until even Dr. Price, the most cheerfuland optimistic of physicians, had warned him, while hoping for the best, to be prepared for the worst. To add to the danger, Mrs. Carteret hadonly this day suffered from a nervous shock, which, it was feared, hadhastened by several weeks the expected event. 

Dr. Price went downstairs to the library, where a dim light wasburning. An old black woman, dressed in a gingham frock, with a redbandana handkerchief coiled around her head by way of turban, was seatedby an open window. She rose and curtsied as the doctor entered anddropped into a willow rocking-chair near her own. 

"How did this happen, Jane?" he asked in a subdued voice, adding, withassumed severity, "You ought to have taken better care of yourmistress. "

"Now look a-hyuh, Doctuh Price, " returned the old woman in an unctuouswhisper, "you don' wanter come talkin' none er yo' foolishness 'bout mynot 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, saysI:--

"'Lawd, Lawd, honey! You don' tell me dat after all dese long w'aryyears er waitin' de good Lawd is done heared yo' prayer an' is gwine tersen' you de chile you be'n wantin' so long an' so bad? Bless his holyname! 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 tercome an' nuss you too. You're young side er me, Mis' 'Livy, but you'reove'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' deirweaknesses, 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 olemist'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 youhaven't told me yet what happened to Mrs. Carteret to-day. Did the horserun away, or did she see something that frightened her?"

"No, suh, de hoss didn' git skeered at nothin', but Mis' 'Livy did seesomethin', er somebody; an' it wa'n't no fault er mine ner her'nneither, --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'smammy, died? No? Well, you wuz prob'ly 'way ter school den, studyin' terbe a doctuh. But I'll tell you all erbout it. 

"Wen my ole mist'ess, Mis' 'Liz'beth Merkell, --an' a good mist'ess shewuz, --tuck sick fer de las' time, her sister Polly--ole Mis' PollyOchiltree w'at is now--come ter de house ter he'p nuss her. Mis' 'Livyupstairs yander wuz erbout six years ole den, de sweetes' little angelyou 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 shepromise'. She wuz a widder fer de secon' time, an' didn' have nochild'en, an' could jes' as well come as not. 

"But dere wuz trouble after de fune'al, an' it happen' right hyuh in dislib'ary. Mars Sam wuz settin' by de table, w'en Mis' Polly comedownstairs, slow an' solemn, an' stood dere in de middle er de flo', allin 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 outde wishes er my dead sister, an' sac'ifice my own comfo't, an' makemyse'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 isnow. "

"Wuss, suh, fer she wuz younger, an' stronger. She always would have hersay, 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 sheonce come ter stay, she'd be de mist'ess of eve'ybody in it an' himtoo. But w'at could he do but say yas?

"'Den it is unde'stood, is it, ' says Mis' Polly, w'en he had spoke, 'datI 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 allde gent'emen wuz in love wid 'er. 

"'You won' fin' much ter do, ' Mars Sam went on, 'fer Julia is a goodhousekeeper, 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 beno '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 hiscourage. 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 dislas' time, wuz already fig'rin' on takin' her place fer good, an' shedid 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' possiblysen' Julia 'way. Fac' is, I couldn' git 'long widout Julia. She'd be'nrunnin' 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 terkeep 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' youis 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' leton, fer it only made him de safer. He wuz willin' fer her ter 'magine w'atshe please', jes' so long ez she kep' out er his house an' let himalone. 

"'No, Polly, ' says he, gittin' bolder ez she got madder, 'dere ain' nouse 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 grimdeath. Mis' Polly wouldn' give in neither, an' so she fin'lly wentaway. Dey made some kind er 'rangement afterwa'ds, an' Miss Polly tuckMis' '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 errorabout Julia. "

"Yas, suh, so she wuz, w'en my ole mist'ess died. But dis wuz two yearsafter, --an' w'at has ter be has ter be. Julia had a easy time; she had ablack gal ter wait on her, a buggy to ride in, an' eve'ything shewanted. Eve'ybody s'posed Mars Sam would give her a house an' lot, erleave her somethin' in his will. But he died suddenly, and didn' leaveno 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 herein 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 inthe old slavery days, and not a few of them had been projected into thenew era. Sins, like snakes, die hard. The habits and customs of a peoplewere not to be changed in a day, nor by the stroke of a pen. As familyphysician, and father confessor by brevet, Dr. Price had looked uponmore than one hidden skeleton; and no one in town had had betteropportunities than old Jane for learning the undercurrents in the livesof the old families. 

"Well, " resumed Jane, "eve'ybody s'posed, after w'at had happen', datJulia'd keep on livin' easy, fer she wuz young an' good-lookin'. Butshe 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' dono better at dat; an' bimeby she got so discourage' dat she ma'ied ashif'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 alikin' ter little Janet, an' put her thoo school, an' den sent her offter 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' tuckher 'way wid 'im. Dey went off ter Europe, er Irope, er Orope, ersomewhere 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 fernusses. "

"He's a very good doctor, Jane, and is doing a useful work. Yourchapter of family history is quite interesting, --I knew part of itbefore, in a general way; but you haven't yet told me what brought onMrs. Carteret's trouble. "

"I'm jes' comin' ter dat dis minute, suh, --w'at I be'n tellin' you isall a part of it. Dis yer Janet, w'at's Mis' 'Livy's half-sister, is ezmuch like her ez ef dey wuz twins. Folks sometimes takes 'em fer oneernudder, --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 oleCarteret mansion had ter be sol', Adam Miller bought it, an' dis yerJanet 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 seecullud 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 nochild'en befo', dis yer sister er her'n is got a fine-lookin' littleyaller boy, w'at favors de fam'ly so dat ef Mis' 'Livy'd see de chileanywhere, 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' metdis yer Janet wid her boy, an' w'en Mis' 'Livy got ter studyin' 'bouther own chances, an' how she mought not come thoo safe, she jes' had afit er hysterics right dere in de buggy. She wuz mos' home, an' Williamgot her here, an' you knows de res'. "

Major Carteret, from the head of the stairs, called the doctoranxiously. 

"You had better come along up now, Jane, " said the doctor. 

For two long hours they fought back the grim spectre that stood by thebedside. The child was born at dawn. Both mother and child, the doctorsaid, would live. 

"Bless its 'ittle hea't!" exclaimed Mammy Jane, as she held up the tinymite, which bore as much resemblance to mature humanity as might beexpected of an infant which had for only a few minutes drawn the breathof life. "Bless its 'ittle hea't! it's de we'y spit an' image er itspappy!"

The doctor smiled. The major laughed aloud. Jane's unconsciouswitticism, or conscious flattery, whichever it might be, was a welcomediversion from the tense strain of the last few hours. 

"Be that as it may, " said Dr. Price cheerfully, "and I'll not disputeit, the child is a very fine boy, --a very fine boy, indeed! Take care ofit, major, " he added with a touch of solemnity, "for your wife can neverbear another. "

With the child's first cry a refreshing breeze from the distant oceancooled the hot air of the chamber; the heavy odor of the magnolias, withits mortuary suggestiveness, gave place to the scent of rose and lilacand 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 asilent prayer of thanksgiving. All nature seemed to rejoice in sympathywith his happiness at the fruition of this long-deferred hope, and topredict 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 tofear that the child was born for bad luck. Had the baby been black, oryellow, or poor-white, Jane would unhesitatingly have named, as hisultimate fate, a not uncommon form of taking off, usually resultant uponthe infraction of certain laws, or, in these swift modern days, upon tooviolent a departure from established social customs. It was manifestlyimpossible that a child of such high quality as the grandson of her oldmistress should die by judicial strangulation; but nevertheless thewarning was a serious thing, and not to be lightly disregarded. 

Not wishing to be considered as a prophet of evil omen, Jane kept herown counsel in regard to this significant discovery. But later, afterthe child was several days old, she filled a small vial with water inwhich the infant had been washed, and took it to a certain wise oldblack woman, who lived on the farther edge of the town and was wellknown to be versed in witchcraft and conjuration. The conjure womanadded to the contents of the bottle a bit of calamus root, and one ofthe cervical vertebrae from the skeleton of a black cat, with severalother mysterious ingredients, the nature of which she did not disclose. Following instructions given her, Aunt Jane buried the bottle inCarteret's back yard, one night during the full moon, as a good-luckcharm to ward off evil from the little grandson of her dear mistress, solong 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 majorhimself being a second son. Having thus given the child two beautifulnames, replete with religious and sentimental significance, they calledhim--"Dodie. "

The baby was christened some six weeks after its birth, by which timeMrs. Carteret was able to be out. Old Mammy Jane, who had been broughtup in the church, but who, like some better informed people in all ages, found religion not inconsistent with a strong vein of superstition, felther fears for the baby's future much relieved when the rector had madethe sign of the cross and sprinkled little Dodie with the water from thecarved marble font, which had come from England in the reign of KingCharles 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 aseat downstairs among the white people, to her own intense satisfaction, and to the secret envy of a small colored attendance in the gallery, towhom she was ostentatiously pointed out by her grandson Jerry, porter atthe Morning Chronicle office, who sat among them in the front row. 

On the following Monday evening the major gave a christening party inhonor of this important event. Owing to Mrs. Carteret's still delicatehealth, only a small number of intimate friends and family connectionswere invited to attend. These were the rector of St. Andrew's; old Mrs. Polly Ochiltree, the godmother; old Mr. Delamere, a distant relative andalso one of the sponsors; and his grandson, Tom Delamere. The major hadalso invited Lee Ellis, his young city editor, for whom he had a greatliking apart from his business value, and who was a frequent visitor atthe house. These, with the family itself, which consisted of the major, his wife, and his half-sister, Clara Pemberton, a young woman of abouteighteen, made up the eight persons for whom covers were laid. 

Ellis was the first to arrive, a tall, loose-limbed young man, with aslightly freckled face, hair verging on auburn, a firm chin, and honestgray eyes. He had come half an hour early, and was left alone for a fewminutes in the parlor, a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with largewindows, and fitted up in excellent taste, with stately reminiscences ofa past generation. The walls were hung with figured paper. The ceilingwas whitewashed, and decorated in the middle with a plastercentre-piece, from which hung a massive chandelier sparkling withprismatic rays from a hundred crystal pendants. There was a handsomemantel, set with terra-cotta tiles, on which fauns and satyrs, nymphsand dryads, disported themselves in idyllic abandon. The furniture wasold, and in keeping with the room. 

At seven o'clock a carriage drove up, from which alighted an elderlygentleman, with white hair and mustache, and bowed somewhat with years. Short of breath and painfully weak in the legs, he was assisted from thecarriage by a colored man, apparently about forty years old, to whomshort side-whiskers and spectacles imparted an air of sobriety. Thisattendant gave his arm respectfully to the old gentleman, who leanedupon it heavily, but with as little appearance of dependence aspossible. The servant, assuming a similar unconsciousness of the weightresting upon his arm, assisted the old gentleman carefully up the steps. 

"I'm all right now, Sandy, " whispered the gentleman as soon as his feetwere planted firmly on the piazza. "You may come back for me at nineo'clock. "

Having taken his hand from his servant's arm, he advanced to meet a ladywho stood in the door awaiting him, a tall, elderly woman, gaunt andangular of frame, with a mottled face, and high cheekbones partiallycovered by bands of hair entirely too black and abundant for a person ofher age, if one might judge from the lines of her mouth, which arerarely deceptive in such matters. 

"Perhaps you'd better not send your man away, Mr. Delamere, " observedthe lady, in a high shrill voice, which grated upon the old gentleman'sears. He was slightly hard of hearing, but, like most deaf people, resented being screamed at. "You might need him before nine o'clock. Onenever knows what may happen after one has had the second stroke. Andmoreover, our butler has fallen down the back steps--negroes are socareless!--and sprained his ankle so that he can't stand. I'd like tohave Sandy stay and wait on the table in Peter's place, if you don'tmind. "

"I thank you, Mrs. Ochiltree, for your solicitude, " replied Mr. Delamere, with a shade of annoyance in his voice, "but my health is verygood just at present, and I do not anticipate any catastrophe which willrequire my servant's presence before I am ready to go home. But I haveno doubt, madam, " he continued, with a courteous inclination, "thatSandy will be pleased to serve you, if you desire it, to the best of hispoor knowledge. "

"I shill be honored, ma'am, " assented Sandy, with a bow even deeper thanhis master's, "only I'm 'feared I ain't rightly dressed fer ter wait ontable. I wuz only goin' ter pra'r-meetin', an' so I didn' put on mybes' clo's. Ef Mis' Ochiltree ain' gwine ter need me fer de nex' fifteenminutes, I kin ride back home in de ca'ige an' dress myse'f suitable ferde 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 justentering 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 youngman 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 airof one thoroughly at home. The lights in the parlor had been lit, andEllis, 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 perfectcontour, a symmetrical face, dark almost to swarthiness, black eyes, which moved somewhat restlessly, curly hair of raven tint, a slightmustache, small hands and feet, and fashionable attire, Tom Delamere, the grandson of the old gentleman who had already arrived, was easilythe handsomest young man in Wellington. But no discriminating observerwould have characterized his beauty as manly. It conveyed no impressionof strength, but did possess a certain element, feline rather thanfeminine, which subtly negatived the idea of manliness. 

He gave his hand to the major, nodded curtly to Ellis, saluted hisgrandfather respectfully, and inquired for the ladies. 

"Olivia is dressing for dinner, " replied the major; "Mrs. Ochiltree isin the kitchen, struggling with the servants. Clara--Ah, here she comesnow!"

Ellis, whose senses were preternaturally acute where Clara wasconcerned, was already looking toward the hall and was the first to seeher. Clad in an evening gown of simple white, to the close-fittingcorsage of which she had fastened a bunch of pink roses, she was toEllis a dazzling apparition. To him her erect and well-moulded form wasthe embodiment of symmetry, her voice sweet music, her movements theperfection of grace; and it scarcely needed a lover's imagination toread in her fair countenance a pure heart and a high spirit, --thetruthfulness 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 thatEllis had long since divined, though he had never yet explored them. Shegave Ellis a friendly nod as she came in, but for the smile with whichshe greeted Delamere, Ellis would have given all that hepossessed, --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 beenhere half an hour. "

Delamere threw a glance at Ellis which was not exactly friendly. Whyshould this fellow always be on hand to emphasize his own shortcomings?

"The rector is not here, " answered Tom triumphantly. "You see I am notthe last. "

"The rector, " replied Clara, "was called out of town at six o'clock thisevening, 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 onlyvisible advantage that he had gained from his early arrival. He had notseen Miss Pemberton a moment sooner by reason of it. There had been acertain satisfaction in being in the same house with her, but Delamerehad arrived in time to share or, more correctly, to monopolize, thesunshine of her presence. 

Delamere gave a plausible excuse which won Clara's pardon and anotherenchanting smile, which pierced Ellis like a dagger. He knew very wellthat Delamere's excuse was a lie. Ellis himself had been ready as earlyas six o'clock, but judging this to be too early, had stopped in at theClarendon Club for half an hour, to look over the magazines. Whilecoming out he had glanced into the card-room, where he had seen hisrival deep in a game of cards, from which Delamere had evidently notbeen able to tear himself until the last moment. He had accounted forhis lateness by a story quite inconsistent with these facts. 

The two young people walked over to a window on the opposite side ofthe 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 waswatching his grandson and Clara with an indulgent smile, proceeded torub salt into Ellis's wounds. 

"They make a handsome couple, " he observed. "I remember well when hermother, in her youth an ideally beautiful woman, of an excellent family, married Daniel Pemberton, who was not of so good a family, but had mademoney. The major, who was only a very young man then, disapproved of thematch; 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 acareful guardian of her estate. Ah, young gentleman, you cannotappreciate, except in imagination, what it means, to one standing on thebrink of eternity, to feel sure that he will live on in his children andhis children's children!"

Ellis was appreciating at that moment what it meant, in cold blood, withno effort of the imagination, to see the girl whom he loved absorbedcompletely in another man. She had looked at him only once since TomDelamere had entered the room, and then merely to use him as a spur withwhich to prick his favored rival. 

"Yes, sir, " he returned mechanically, "Miss Clara is a beautiful younglady. "

"And Tom is a good boy--a fine boy, " returned the old gentleman. "I amvery well pleased with Tom, and shall be entirely happy when I see themmarried. "

Ellis could not echo this sentiment. The very thought of this marriagemade him miserable. He had always understood that the engagement wasmerely tentative, a sort of family understanding, subject toconfirmation after Delamere should have attained his majority, which wasstill a year off, and when the major should think Clara old enough tomarry. Ellis saw Delamere with the eye of a jealous rival, and judgedhim mercilessly, --whether correctly or not the sequel will show. He didnot at all believe that Tom Delamere would make a fit husband for ClaraPemberton; but his opinion would have had no weight, --he could hardlyhave expressed it without showing his own interest. Moreover, there wasno element of the sneak in Lee Ellis's make-up. The very fact that hemight profit by the other's discomfiture left Delamere secure, so far ashe could be affected by anything that Ellis might say. But Ellis did notshrink from a fair fight, and though in this one the odds were heavilyagainst him, yet so long as this engagement remained indefinite, solong, indeed, as the object of his love was still unwed, he would notcease to hope. Such a sacrifice as this marriage clearly belonged in thecatalogue of impossibilities. Ellis had not lived long enough to learnthat impossibilities are merely things of which we have not learned, orwhich we do not wish to happen. 

Sandy returned at the end of a quarter of an hour, and dinner wasannounced. Mr. Delamere led the way to the dining-room with Mrs. Ochiltree. Tom followed with Clara. The major went to the head of thestairs and came down with Mrs. Carteret upon his arm, her beautyrendered more delicate by the pallor of her countenance and morecomplete by the happiness with which it glowed. Ellis went in alone. Inthe rector's absence it was practically a family party which sat down, with the exception of Ellis, who, as we have seen, would willingly haveplaced himself in the same category. 

The table was tastefully decorated with flowers, which grew about thehouse in lavish profusion. In warm climates nature adorns herself withtrue feminine vanity. 

"What a beautiful table!" exclaimed Tom, before they were seated. 

"The decorations are mine, " said Clara proudly. "I cut the flowers andarranged 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 expresshimself. He had always counted himself the least envious of men, but forthis occasion he coveted Tom Delamere's readiness. 

"The beauty of the flowers, " observed old Mr. Delamere, with sententiousgallantry, "is reflected upon all around them. It is a handsomecompany. "

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; "Andas 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 thecrack of the whip; he was familiar with his aunt's conversationalidiosyncrasies. 

"If you are as good as you look, " continued the old lady, with a cunningbut 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 sogood-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. Carteretapologetically, "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 afool of him before Clara's family. Nor had he relished the comparisonwith Ellis, who was out of place, anyway, in this family party. He hadnever liked the fellow, who was too much of a plodder and a prig to makea suitable associate for a whole-souled, generous-hearted younggentleman. He tolerated him as a visitor at Carteret's and as a memberof 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 tohimself. The compliment to his character hardly offset the reflectionupon his looks. He knew he was not exactly handsome, but it was notpleasant to have the fact emphasized in the presence of the girl heloved; he would like at least fair play, and judgment upon the subjectleft to the young lady. 

Mrs. Ochiltree was quietly enjoying herself. In early life she had beenaccustomed to impale fools on epigrams, like flies on pins, to see themwriggle. But with advancing years she had lost in some measure thefaculty of nice discrimination, --it was pleasant to see her victimssquirm, whether they were fools or friends. Even one's friends, sheargued, were not always wise, and were sometimes the better for beingtold the truth. At her niece's table she felt at liberty to speak hermind, which she invariably did, with a frankness that sometimes borderedon brutality. She had long ago outgrown the period where ambition orpassion, or its partners, envy and hatred, were springs of action in herlife, and simply retained a mild enjoyment in the exercise of an oldhabit, with no active malice whatever. The ruling passion merely grewstronger as the restraining faculties decreased in vigor. 

A diversion was created at this point by the appearance of old MammyJane, dressed in a calico frock, with clean white neckerchief and apron, carrying the wonderful baby in honor of whose naming this feast had beengiven. Though only six weeks old, the little Theodore had grown rapidly, and Mammy Jane declared was already quite large for his age, anddisplayed signs of an unusually precocious intelligence. He was passedaround 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 totest his grip. Old Mr. Delamere was unable to decide as yet whether hefavored most his father or his mother. The object of these attentionsendured them patiently for several minutes, and then protested with avocal vigor which led to his being taken promptly back upstairs. Whatever fate might be in store for him, he manifested no sign of weaklungs. 

"Sandy, " said Mrs. Carteret when the baby had retired, "pass that traystanding upon the side table, so that we may all see the presents. "

Mr. Delamere had brought a silver spoon, and Tom a napkin ring. Ellishad sent a silver watch; it was a little premature, he admitted, butthe boy would grow to it, and could use it to play with in the meantime. 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 ahandle which the child could bite while teething, and a knob screwed onat 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 alittle girl, and you used to pull the chest out from under your bed toget 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 pieceyou 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 classicalrather 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 supportan old woman for twenty years. "

Mr. Delamere's man Sandy had been waiting upon the table with thedecorum of a trained butler, and a gravity all his own. He had changedhis suit of plain gray for a long blue coat with brass buttons, whichdated back to the fashion of a former generation, with which he wore apair of plaid trousers of strikingly modern cut and pattern. With hiswhiskers, his spectacles, and his solemn air of responsibility, he wouldhave presented, to one unfamiliar with the negro type, an amusinglyimpressive appearance. But there was nothing incongruous about Sandy tothis company, except perhaps to Tom Delamere, who possessed a keen eyefor contrasts and always regarded Sandy, in that particular rig, as avery comical darkey. 

"Is it quite prudent, Mrs. Ochiltree, " suggested the major at a momentwhen Sandy, having set down the tray, had left the room for a littlewhile, "to mention, in the presence of the servants, that you keep moneyin the house?"

"I beg your pardon, major, " observed old Mr. Delamere, with a touch ofstiffness. "The only servant in hearing of the conversation has been myown; and Sandy is as honest as any man in Wellington. "

"You mean, sir, " replied Carteret, with a smile, "as honest as any negroin Wellington. "

"I make no exceptions, major, " returned the old gentleman, withemphasis. "I would trust Sandy with my life, --he saved it once at therisk of his own. "

"No doubt, " mused the major, "the negro is capable of a certain doglikefidelity, --I make the comparison in a kindly sense, --a certain personaldevotion which is admirable in itself, and fits him eminently for aservile career. I should imagine, however, that one could more safelytrust his life with a negro than his portable property. "

"Very clever, major! I read your paper, and know that your feeling ishostile toward the negro, but"--

The major made a gesture of dissent, but remained courteously silentuntil Mr. Delamere had finished. 

"For my part, " the old gentleman went on, "I think they have done verywell, considering what they started from, and their limitedopportunities. There was Adam Miller, for instance, who left acomfortable estate. His son George carries on the business, and theyounger boy, William, is a good doctor and stands well with hisprofession. His hospital is a good thing, and if my estate were clear, Ishould like to do something for it. "

"You are mistaken, sir, in imagining me hostile to the negro, " explainedCarteret. "On the contrary, I am friendly to his best interests. I givehim employment; I pay taxes for schools to educate him, and forcourt-houses and jails to keep him in order. I merely object to beinggoverned by an inferior and servile race. "

Mrs. Carteret's face wore a tired expression. This question was herhusband's hobby, and therefore her own nightmare. Moreover, she had herpersonal grievance against the negro race, and the names mentioned byold Mr. Delamere had brought it vividly before her mind. She had nodesire to mar the harmony of the occasion by the discussion of adistasteful 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. Imerely wish to say that Sandy is an exception to any rule which you mayformulate in derogation of the negro. Sandy is a gentleman in ebony!"

Tom could scarcely preserve his gravity at this characterization of oldSandy, with his ridiculous air of importance, his long blue coat, andhis loud plaid trousers. That suit would make a great costume for amasquerade. He would borrow it some time, --there was nothing in theworld like it. 

"Well, Mr. Delamere, " returned the major good-humoredly, "no doubt Sandyis an exceptionally good negro, --he might well be, for he has had thebenefit of your example all his life, --and we know that he is a faithfulservant. But nevertheless, if I were Mrs. Ochiltree, I should put mymoney in the bank. Not all negroes are as honest as Sandy, and anelderly lady might not prove a match for a burly black burglar. "

"Thank you, major, " retorted Mrs. Ochiltree, with spirit, "I'm not yettoo old to take care of myself. That cedar chest has been my bank forforty years, and I shall not change my habits at my age. "

At this moment Sandy reëntered the room. Carteret made a warninggesture, which Mrs. Ochiltree chose not to notice. 

"I've proved a match for two husbands, and am not afraid of any manthat walks the earth, black or white, by day or night. I have arevolver, and know how to use it. Whoever attempts to rob me will do soat his peril. "

After dinner Clara played the piano and sang duets with Tom Delamere. Atnine o'clock Mr. Delamere's carriage came for him, and he went awayaccompanied by Sandy. Under cover of the darkness the old gentlemanleaned on his servant's arm with frank dependence, and Sandy lifted himinto the carriage with every mark of devotion. 

Ellis had already excused himself to go to the office and look over thelate proofs for the morning paper. Tom remained a few minutes longerthan his grandfather, and upon taking his leave went round to theClarendon Club, where he spent an hour or two in the card-room with acouple of congenial friends. Luck seemed to favor him, and he went homeat midnight with a comfortable balance of winnings. He was fond ofexcitement, and found a great deal of it in cards. To lose was only lessexciting than to win. Of late he had developed into a very successfulplayer, --so successful, indeed, that several members of the clubgenerally found excuses to avoid participating in a game where he madeone. 

III

THE EDITOR AT WORK

To go back a little, for several days after his child's birth MajorCarteret's chief interest in life had been confined to the four walls ofthe chamber where his pale wife lay upon her bed of pain, and those ofthe adjoining room where an old black woman crooned lovingly over alittle white infant. A new element had been added to the major'sconsciousness, broadening the scope and deepening the strength of hisaffections. He did not love Olivia the less, for maternity had crownedher wifehood with an added glory; but side by side with this old andtried attachment was a new passion, stirring up dormant hopes andkindling new desires. His regret had been more than personal at thethought that with himself an old name should be lost to the State; andnow all the old pride of race, class, and family welled up anew, andswelled and quickened the current of his life. 

Upon the major's first appearance at the office, which took place thesecond day after the child's birth, he opened a box of cigars in honorof the event. The word had been passed around by Ellis, and the wholeoffice force, including reporters, compositors, and pressmen, came in tocongratulate the major and smoke at his expense. Even Jerry, the coloredporter, --Mammy Jane's grandson and therefore a protégé of thefamily, --presented himself among the rest, or rather, after the rest. The major shook hands with them all except Jerry, though he acknowledgedthe porter's congratulations with a kind nod and put a good cigar intohis outstretched palm, for which Jerry thanked him without manifestingany consciousness of the omission. He was quite aware that underordinary circumstances the major would not have shaken hands with whiteworkingmen, to say nothing of negroes; and he had merely hoped that inthe pleasurable distraction of the moment the major might also overlookthe distinction of color. Jerry's hope had been shattered, though notrudely; for the major had spoken pleasantly and the cigar was a goodone. Mr. Ellis had once shaken hands with Jerry, --but Mr. Ellis was ayoung man, whose Quaker father had never owned any slaves, and he couldnot 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. Onthe whole, Jerry preferred the careless nod of the editor-in-chief tothe more familiar greeting of the subaltern. 

Having finished this pleasant ceremony, which left him with acomfortable sense of his new dignity, the major turned to his desk. Ithad been much neglected during the week, and more than one matterclaimed 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, --itmust be planned and worked out with a due sense of the value of goodblood. 

There lay upon his desk a letter from a well-known promoter, offeringthe major an investment which promised large returns, though severalyears must elapse before the enterprise could be put upon a payingbasis. The element of time, however, was not immediately important. TheMorning Chronicle provided him an ample income. The money available forthis investment was part of his wife's patrimony. It was invested in alocal cotton mill, which was paying ten per cent. , but this was abeggarly return compared with the immense profits promised by theoffered investment, --profits which would enable his son, upon reachingmanhood, to take a place in the world commensurate with the dignity ofhis ancestors, one of whom, only a few generations removed, had owned anestate 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 thestate were not going to his satisfaction. At the last state election hisown party, after an almost unbroken rule of twenty years, had beendefeated by the so-called "Fusion" ticket, a combination of Republicansand 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 tocolored men, their people having voted almost solidly for the Fusionticket. In spite of the fact that the population of Wellington was twothirds colored, this state of things was gall and wormwood to thedefeated party, of which the Morning Chronicle was the acknowledgedorgan. Major Carteret shared this feeling. Only this very morning, whilepassing the city hall, on his way to the office, he had seen the stepsof that noble building disfigured by a fringe of job-hunting negroes, for all the world--to use a local simile--like a string of buzzardssitting on a rail, awaiting their opportunity to batten upon thehelpless corpse of a moribund city. 

Taking for his theme the unfitness of the negro to participate ingovernment, --an unfitness due to his limited education, his lack ofexperience, his criminal tendencies, and more especially to his hopelessmental and physical inferiority to the white race, --the major haddemonstrated, it seemed to him clearly enough, that the ballot in thehands of the negro was a menace to the commonwealth. He had argued, withentire conviction, that the white and black races could never attainsocial and political harmony by commingling their blood; he had provedby several historical parallels that no two unassimilable races couldever live together except in the relation of superior and inferior; andhe was just dipping his gold pen into the ink to indite his conclusionsfrom the premises thus established, when Jerry, the porter, announcedtwo 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 littlegentleman with light-blue eyes and a Vandyke beard. He wore a frockcoat, patent leather shoes, and a Panama hat. There were crow's-feetabout his eyes, which twinkled with a hard and, at times, humorousshrewdness. He had sloping shoulders, small hands and feet, and walkedwith the leisurely step characteristic of those who have been rearedunder 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 appearancefrom his companion. His broad shoulders, burly form, square jaw, andheavy chin betokened strength, energy, and unscrupulousness. With theexception of a small, bristling mustache, his face was clean shaven, with here and there a speck of dried blood due to a carelessly orunskillfully handled razor. A single deep-set gray eye was shadowed by abeetling brow, over which a crop of coarse black hair, slightly streakedwith gray, fell almost low enough to mingle with his black, bushyeyebrows. His coat had not been brushed for several days, if one mightjudge from the accumulation of dandruff upon the collar, and hisshirt-front, in the middle of which blazed a showy diamond, wasplentifully 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 perceptiblediminution of the warmth with which he had welcomed the other, the majorlooked around the room for seats for his visitors, and perceiving onlyone chair, piled with exchanges, and a broken stool propped against thewall, pushed a button, which rang a bell in the hall, summoning thecolored porter to his presence. 

"Jerry, " said the editor when his servant appeared, "bring a couple ofchairs for these gentlemen. "

While they stood waiting, the visitors congratulated the major on thebirth of his child, which had been announced in the Morning Chronicle, and which the prominence of the family made in some degree a matter ofpublic interest. 

"And now that you have a son, major, " remarked the gentleman firstdescribed, as he lit one of the major's cigars, "you'll be all the moreinterested in doing something to make this town fit to live in, which iswhat we came up to talk about. Things are in an awful condition! A negrojustice of the peace has opened an office on Market Street, and onlyyesterday summoned a white man to appear before him. Negro lawyers getmost of the business in the criminal court. Last evening a group ofyoung white ladies, going quietly along the street arm-in-arm, wereforced off the sidewalk by a crowd of negro girls. Coming down thestreet just now, I saw a spectacle of social equality and negrodomination that made my blood boil with indignation, --a white and ablack convict, chained together, crossing the city in charge of a negroofficer! We cannot stand that sort of thing, Carteret, --it is the laststraw! Something must be done, and that quickly!"

The major thrilled with responsive emotion. There was somethingprophetic in this opportune visit. The matter was not only in his ownthoughts, but in the air; it was the spontaneous revulsion of white menagainst the rule of an inferior race. These were the very men, above allothers in the town, to join him in a movement to change these degradingconditions. 

General Belmont, the smaller of the two, was a man of good family, alawyer by profession, and took an active part in state and localpolitics. Aristocratic by birth and instinct, and a former owner ofslaves, his conception of the obligations and rights of his caste wasnevertheless somewhat lower than that of the narrower but more sincereCarteret. In serious affairs Carteret desired the approval of hisconscience, even if he had to trick that docile organ intoacquiescence. This was not difficult to do in politics, for he believedin the divine right of white men and gentlemen, as his ancestors hadbelieved in and died for the divine right of kings. General Belmont wasnot without a gentleman's distaste for meanness, but he permitted nofine 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 mayof course have been a libel. He had an amiable disposition, possessedthe 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 thedoor of opportunity. No longer overshadowed by a slaveholding caste, some of this class had rapidly pushed themselves forward. Some had madehonorable records. Others, foremost in negro-baiting and electionfrauds, had done the dirty work of politics, as their fathers had donethat of slavery, seeking their reward at first in minor offices, --forwhich men of gentler breeding did not care, --until their ambition beganto reach out for higher honors. 

Of this class McBane--whose captaincy, by the way, was merely a politefiction--had been one of the most successful. He had held, untilrecently, as the reward of questionable political services, a contractwith the State for its convict labor, from which in a few years he hadrealized a fortune. But the methods which made his contract profitablehad not commended themselves to humane people, and charges of crueltyand worse had been preferred against him. He was rich enough to escapeserious consequences from the investigation which followed, but when theFusion ticket carried the state he lost his contract, and the system ofconvict labor was abolished. Since then McBane had devoted himself topolitics: he was ambitious for greater wealth, for office, and forsocial recognition. A man of few words and self-engrossed, he seldomspoke of his aspirations except where speech might favor them, preferring to seek his ends by secret "deals" and combinations ratherthan to challenge criticism and provoke rivalry by more open methods. 

At sight, therefore, of these two men, with whose careers and charactershe was entirely familiar, Carteret felt sweep over his mind theconviction that now was the time and these the instruments with which toundertake the redemption of the state from the evil fate which hadbefallen it. 

Jerry, the porter, who had gone downstairs to the counting-room to findtwo whole chairs, now entered with one in each hand. He set a chair forthe general, who gave him an amiable nod, to which Jerry responded witha bow and a scrape. Captain McBane made no acknowledgment, but fixedJerry so fiercely with his single eye that upon placing the chair Jerrymade 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, whenhe wuz a boy, an' dat he ain' never had no use fer niggerssence, --'cep'n' fer what he could make outen 'em wid his convic' laborcontrac's. His daddy wuz a' overseer befo' 'im, an' it come nachul ferhim ter be a nigger-driver. I don' want dat one eye er his'n restin' onme no longer 'n I kin he'p, an' I don' know how I'm gwine ter like disjob 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 distown! '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 wuzw'ite!"

After this fervent aspiration, having nothing else to do for the timebeing, except to remain within call, and having caught a few words ofthe conversation as he went in with the chairs, Jerry, who possessed acertain amount of curiosity, placed close to the wall the broken stoolupon which he sat while waiting in the hall, and applied his ear to ahole in the plastering of the hallway. There was a similar defect in theinner wall, between the same two pieces of studding, and while thisinner opening was not exactly opposite the outer, Jerry was enabled, through the two, to catch in a more or less fragmentary way what wasgoing on within. 

He could hear the major, now and then, use the word "negro, " andMcBane's deep voice was quite audible when he referred, it seemed toJerry with alarming frequency, to "the damned niggers, " while thegeneral's suave tones now and then pronounced the word "niggro, "--a sortof compromise between ethnology and the vernacular. That the gentlemenwere talking politics seemed quite likely, for gentlemen generallytalked politics when they met at the Chronicle office. Jerry could hearthe words "vote, " "franchise, " "eliminate, " "constitution, " and otherexpressions which marked the general tenor of the talk, though he couldnot follow it all, --partly because he could not hear everythingdistinctly, and partly because of certain limitations which nature hadplaced in the way of Jerry's understanding anything very difficult orabstruse. 

He had gathered enough, however, to realize, in a vague way, thatsomething serious was on foot, involving his own race, when a bellsounded over his head, at which he sprang up hastily and entered theroom where the gentlemen were talking. 

"Jerry, " said the major, "wait on Captain McBane. "

"Yas, suh, " responded Jerry, turning toward the captain, whose eye hecarefully avoided meeting directly. 

"Take that half a dollar, boy, " ordered McBane, "an' go 'cross thestreet to Mr. Sykes's, and tell him to send me three whiskies. Bringback 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 ofthe room. Jerry did not like Captain McBane, to begin with, and it wasclear that the captain was no gentleman, or he would not have thrown themoney at him. Considering the source, Jerry might have overlooked thisdiscourtesy 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 themround, handed Captain McBane his change, and retired to the hall. 

"Gentlemen, " exclaimed the captain, lifting his glass, "I propose atoast: 'No nigger domination. '"

"Amen!" said the others, and three glasses were solemnly drained. 

"Major, " observed the general, smacking his lips, "_I_ should like touse Jerry for a moment, if you will permit me. "

Jerry appeared promptly at the sound of the bell. He had remainedconveniently 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 glassesof my special mixture. And, Jerry, --you may keep the change!"

"Thank y', gin'l, thank y', marster, " replied Jerry, with unctuousgratitude, 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 whenhe had closed the door. "But dere's somethin' gwine on in dere, --deresho' is! 'No nigger damnation!' Dat soun's all right, --I'm sho' dereain' no nigger I knows w'at wants damnation, do' dere's lots of 'em w'atdeserves it; but ef dat one-eyed Cap'n McBane got anything ter do widit, w'atever it is, it don' mean no good fer de niggers, --damnation'dbe better fer 'em dan dat Cap'n McBane! He looks at a nigger lack hecould jes' eat 'im alive. "

"This mixture, gentlemen, " observed the general when Jerry had returnedwith the glasses, "was originally compounded by no less a person thanthe great John C. Calhoun himself, who confided the recipe to my fatherover the convivial board. In this nectar of the gods, gentlemen, I drinkwith 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 famousmixture of the immortal Calhoun, turned to his desk and finished, at awhite heat, his famous editorial in which he sounded the tocsin of a newcrusade. 

At noon, when the editor, having laid down his pen, was leaving theoffice, he passed Jerry in the hall without a word or a nod. The majorwore a rapt look, which Jerry observed with a vague uneasiness. 

"He looks jes' lack he wuz walkin' in his sleep, " muttered Jerryuneasily. "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 apassel er w'ite folks gits ter talkin' 'bout de niggers lack dem inyander, it's mo' lackly dey're gwine ter ketch somethin' e'se danheaven! I got ter keep my eyes open an' keep up wid w'at's happenin'. Efdere's gwine ter be anudder flood 'roun' here, I wants ter git in deark wid de w'ite folks, --I may haf ter be anudder Ham, an' sta't decullud race all over ag'in. "

IV

THEODORE FELIX

The young heir of the Carterets had thriven apace, and at six months oldwas, according to Mammy Jane, whose experience qualified her to speakwith authority, the largest, finest, smartest, and altogether mostremarkable baby that had ever lived in Wellington. Mammy Jane hadrecently suffered from an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, as theresult of which she had returned to her own home. She nevertheless camenow and then to see Mrs. Carteret. A younger nurse had been procured totake her place, but it was understood that Jane would come whenever shemight be needed. 

"You really mean that about Dodie, do you, Mammy Jane?" asked thedelighted mother, who never tired of hearing her own opinion confirmedconcerning this wonderful child, which had come to her like an angelfrom heaven. 

"Does I mean it!" exclaimed Mammy Jane, with a tone and an expressionwhich spoke volumes of reproach. "Now, Mis' 'Livy, what is I everuttered er said er spoke er done dat would make you s'pose I could tellyou 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 nolies ner strain no p'ints 'bout my ole mist'ess's gran'chile. Dis yerboy is de ve'y spit an' image er yo' brother, young Mars Alick, w'atdied w'en he wuz 'bout eight mont's ole, w'iles I wuz laid off havin' ababy er my own, an' couldn' be roun' ter look after 'im. An' dis chileis a rale quality chile, he is, --I never seed a baby wid sech fine hairfer 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'sole. Does dat gal w'at does de nussin' w'iles I'm gone ten' ter dischile right, Mis' 'Livy?"

"She does fairly well, Mammy Jane, but I could hardly expect her to lovethe 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 erdese yer young folks ain' got de trainin' my ole mist'ess give me. Deseyer new-fangle' schools don' l'arn 'em nothin' ter compare wid it. I'mjes' gwine ter give dat gal a piece er my min', befo' I go, so she'llten' ter dis chile right. "

The nurse came in shortly afterwards, a neat-looking brown girl, dressedin 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 mammydere, 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 doesyo' wo'k right. "

"Do you need me for anything, ma'am?" asked the young nurse, who hadstood before Mrs. Carteret, giving Mammy Jane a mere passing glance, andlistening impassively to her harangue. The nurse belonged to theyounger generation of colored people. She had graduated from the missionschool, and had received some instruction in Dr. Miller's class fornurses. Standing, like most young people of her race, on the border linebetween two irreconcilable states of life, she had neither thepicturesqueness of the slave, nor the unconscious dignity of those ofwhom freedom has been the immemorial birthright; she was in what mightbe called the chip-on-the-shoulder stage, through which races as well asindividuals must pass in climbing the ladder of life, --not aninteresting, at least not an agreeable stage, but an inevitable one, andfor 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 withrace, 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 morepolite, or a little less offensive, the nurse might have returned her apleasant answer. These old-time negroes, she said to herself, made hersick with their slavering over the white folks, who, she supposed, favored them and made much of them because they had once belonged tothem, --much the same reason why they fondled their cats and dogs. Forher own part, they gave her nothing but her wages, and small wages atthat, and she owed them nothing more than equivalent service. It waspurely a matter of business; she sold her time for their money. Therewas no question of love between them. 

Receiving a negative answer from Mrs. Carteret, she left the roomwithout a word, ignoring Mammy Jane completely, and leaving thatvenerable 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 yeryoung niggers ain' got de manners dey wuz bawned wid! I don' know w'atdey'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 cameinto the room and took the child into his arms. 

Mammy Jane hobbled to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. She was neverlacking in respect to white people of proper quality; but MajorCarteret, the quintessence of aristocracy, called out all her reservesof deference. The major was always kind and considerate to these oldfamily retainers, brought up in the feudal atmosphere now so rapidlypassing away. Mammy Jane loved Mrs. Carteret; toward the major sheentertained a feeling bordering upon awe. 

"Well, Jane, " returned the major sadly, when the old nurse had relatedher grievance, "the old times have vanished, the old ties have beenruptured. The old relations of dependence and loyal obedience on thepart of the colored people, the responsibility of protection andkindness upon that of the whites, have passed away forever. The youngnegroes are too self-assertive. Education is spoiling them, Jane; theyhave been badly taught. They are not content with their station in life. Some time they will overstep the mark. The white people are patient, butthere is a limit to their endurance. "

"Dat's w'at I tells dese young niggers, " groaned Mammy Jane, with aportentous shake of her turbaned head, "w'en I hears 'em gwine on widdeir foolishniss; but dey don' min' me. Dey 'lows dey knows mo' d'n Idoes, 'ca'se dey be'n l'arnt ter look in a book. But, pshuh! my olemist'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 crowdde w'ite folks, dey'd git ernuff ter eat, an' live out deir days inpeace an' comfo't. But dey don' min' me--dey don' min' me!"

"If all the colored people were like you and Jerry, Jane, " rejoined themajor kindly, "there would never be any trouble. You have friends uponwhom, in time of need, you can rely implicitly for protection andsuccor. You served your mistress faithfully before the war; you remainedby her when the other negroes were running hither and thither like sheepwithout a shepherd; and you have transferred your allegiance to my wifeand her child. We think a great deal of you, Jane. "

"Yes, indeed, Mammy Jane, " assented Mrs. Carteret, with sincereaffection, glancing with moist eyes from the child in her husband's armsto the old nurse, whose dark face was glowing with happiness at theseexpressions of appreciation, "you shall never want so long as we haveanything. We would share our last crust with you. "

"Thank y', Mis' 'Livy, " said Jane with reciprocal emotion, "I knows whomy frien's is, an' I ain' gwine ter let nothin' worry me. But fer deLawd'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 somereason, was gasping for breath. Catching the child from the major'sarms, she patted it on the back, and shook it gently. After a moment ofthis 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 inher own arms, "what can be the matter with him, Mammy Jane?"

"Fer de Lawd's sake, ma'am, I don' know, 'less he's swalleredsomethin'; an' he ain' had nothin' in his han's but de rattle Mis' Pollygive 'im. "

Mrs. Carteret caught up the ivory rattle, which hung suspended by aribbon from the baby's neck. 

"He has swallowed the little piece off the end of the handle, " shecried, turning pale with fear, "and it has lodged in his throat. Telephone Dr. Price to come immediately, Philip, before my baby chokesto death! Oh, my baby, my precious baby!"

An anxious half hour passed, during which the child lay quiet, exceptfor its labored breathing. The suspense was relieved by the arrival ofDr. 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 thetrachea, 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 theresult. "

At the end of another half hour Dr. Price announced his inability toremove 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 suchoperations are more or less dangerous, especially on small children. Ifthis were some other child, I might undertake the operation unassisted;but I know how you value this one, major, and I should prefer to sharethe 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 gothere in time. Spare no expense, Dr. Price. We value this child above anyearthly 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 canstart at once, he can reach here in sixteen or eighteen hours, and thecase can wait even longer, if inflammation does not set in. "

The message was dispatched forthwith. By rare good fortune the eminentspecialist was able to start within an hour or two after the receipt ofDr. Price's telegram. Meanwhile the baby remained restless and uneasy, the doctor spending most of his time by its side. Mrs. Carteret, who hadnever been quite strong since the child's birth, was a prey to the mostagonizing apprehensions. 

Mammy Jane, while not presuming to question the opinion of Dr. Price, and not wishing to add to her mistress's distress, was secretlyoppressed by forebodings which she was unable to shake off. The childwas born for bad luck. The mole under its ear, just at the point wherethe hangman's knot would strike, had foreshadowed dire misfortune. Shehad already observed several little things which had rendered hervaguely anxious. 

For instance, upon one occasion, on entering the room where the baby hadbeen left alone, asleep in his crib, she had met a strange cat hurryingfrom the nursery, and, upon examining closely the pillow upon which thechild lay, had found a depression which had undoubtedly been due to theweight of the cat's body. The child was restless and uneasy, and Janehad ever since believed that the cat had been sucking little Dodie'sbreath, with what might have been fatal results had she not appearedjust in the nick of time. 

This untimely accident of the rattle, a fatality for which no one couldbe held responsible, had confirmed the unlucky omen. Jane's duties inthe 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 upthe charm which she had planted there. It had protected the child sofar; but perhaps its potency had become exhausted. She picked up thebottle, shook it vigorously, and then laid it back, with the other sideup. Refilling the hole, she made a cross over the top with the thumb ofher left hand, and walked three times around it. 

What this strange symbolism meant, or whence it derived its origin, AuntJane did not know. The cross was there, and the Trinity, though Jane wasscarcely conscious of these, at this moment, as religious emblems. Butshe hoped, on general principles, that this performance would strengthenthe charm and restore little Dodie's luck. It certainly had its moraleffect upon Jane's own mind, for she was able to sleep better, andcontrived to impress Mrs. Carteret with her own hopefulness. 

V

A JOURNEY SOUTHWARD

As the south-bound train was leaving the station at Philadelphia, agentleman took his seat in the single sleeping-car attached to thetrain, and proceeded to make himself comfortable. He hung up his hat andopened his newspaper, in which he remained absorbed for a quarter of anhour. 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, whohad been on the car since it had left New York, rose from his seat uponperceiving the other's glance, and came down the aisle. 

"How do you do, Dr. Burns?" he said, stopping beside the seat of thePhiladelphia 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 ofcordial 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 meall about yourself, --what you're doing, where you've been, and whereyou're going. I'm delighted to meet you, and to see you looking sowell--and so prosperous. "

"I deserve no credit for either, sir, " returned the other, as he tookthe proffered seat, "for I inherited both health and prosperity. It is afortunate chance that permits me to meet you. "

The two acquaintances, thus opportunely thrown together so that theymight while away in conversation the tedium of their journey, represented very different and yet very similar types of manhood. Acelebrated traveler, after many years spent in barbarous or savagelands, has said that among all varieties of mankind the similarities arevastly more important and fundamental than the differences. Looking atthese two men with the American eye, the differences would perhaps bethe more striking, or at least the more immediately apparent, for thefirst was white and the second black, or, more correctly speaking, brown; it was even a light brown, but both his swarthy complexion andhis curly hair revealed what has been described in the laws of some ofour states as a "visible admixture" of African blood. 

Having disposed of this difference, and having observed that the whiteman 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 fromtheir faces and their manners to be men of culture and accustomed to thesociety of cultivated people. They were both handsome men, the elderrepresenting a fine type of Anglo-Saxon, as the term is used in speakingof our composite white population; while the mulatto's erect form, broadshoulders, clear eyes, fine teeth, and pleasingly moulded featuresshowed nowhere any sign of that degeneration which the pessimist sosadly maintains is the inevitable heritage of mixed races. 

As to their personal relations, it has already appeared that they weremembers of the same profession. In past years they had been teacher andpupil. Dr. Alvin Burns was professor in the famous medical collegewhere Miller had attended lectures. The professor had taken an interestin his only colored pupil, to whom he had been attracted by hisearnestness of purpose, his evident talent, and his excellent mannersand fine physique. It was in part due to Dr. Burns's friendship thatMiller had won a scholarship which had enabled him, without drawing tooheavily upon his father's resources, to spend in Europe, studying in thehospitals of Paris and Vienna, the two most delightful years of hislife. The same influence had strengthened his natural inclination towardoperative surgery, in which Dr. Burns was a distinguished specialist ofnational reputation. 

Miller's father, Adam Miller, had been a thrifty colored man, the son ofa slave, who, in the olden time, had bought himself with money which hehad earned and saved, over and above what he had paid his master for histime. Adam Miller had inherited his father's thrift, as well as histrade, which was that of a stevedore, or contractor for the loading andunloading of vessels at the port of Wellington. In the flush turpentinedays following a few years after the civil war, he had made money. Hissavings, shrewdly invested, had by constant accessions become acompetence. He had brought up his eldest son to the trade; the other hehad given a professional education, in the proud hope that his childrenor his grandchildren might be gentlemen in the town where theirancestors 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 hadpromptly spent part of his inheritance in founding a hospital, to whichwas to be added a training school for nurses, and in time perhaps amedical college and a school of pharmacy. He had been strongly temptedto leave the South, and seek a home for his family and a career forhimself in the freer North, where race antagonism was less keen, or atleast less oppressive, or in Europe, where he had never found his colorwork to his disadvantage. But his people had needed him, and he hadwished to help them, and had sought by means of this institution tocontribute to their uplifting. As he now informed Dr. Burns, he wasreturning from New York, where he had been in order to purchaseequipment for his new hospital, which would soon be ready for thereception of patients. 

"How much I can accomplish I do not know, " said Miller, "but I'll dowhat I can. There are eight or nine million of us, and it will take agreat deal of learning of all kinds to leaven that lump. "

"It is a great problem, Miller, the future of your race, " returned theother, "a tremendously interesting problem. It is a serial story whichwe are all reading, and which grows in vital interest with eachsuccessive installment. It is not only your problem, but ours. Your racemust come up or drag ours down. "

"We shall come up, " declared Miller; "slowly and painfully, perhaps, butwe shall win our way. If our race had made as much progress everywhereas they have made in Wellington, the problem would be well on the waytoward 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'sthroat. 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 theMedical Gazette, the other day, an account of a very interestingoperation of yours. I felt proud to number you among my pupils. It was aremarkable case--a rare case. I must certainly have you with me in thisone. "

"I shall be delighted, sir, " returned Miller, "if it is agreeable to allconcerned. "

Several hours were passed in pleasant conversation while the train spedrapidly southward. They were already far down in Virginia, and hadstopped at a station beyond Richmond, when the conductor entered thecar. 

"All passengers, " he announced, "will please transfer to the day coachesahead. The sleeper has a hot box, and must be switched off here. "

Dr. Burns and Miller obeyed the order, the former leading the way intothe coach immediately in front of the sleeping-car. 

"Let's sit here, Miller, " he said, having selected a seat near the rearof the car and deposited his suitcase in a rack. "It's on the shadyside. "

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, hepaused at the seat occupied by the two doctors, glanced interrogativelyat Miller, and then spoke to Dr. Burns, who sat in the end of the seatnearest the aisle. 

"This man is with you?" he asked, indicating Miller with a slight sidemovement of his head, and a keen glance in his direction. 

"Certainly, " replied Dr. Burns curtly, and with some surprise. "Don'tyou see that he is?"

The conductor passed on. Miller paid no apparent attention to thislittle interlude, though no syllable had escaped him. He resumed theconversation where it had been broken off, but nevertheless followedwith his eyes the conductor, who stopped at a seat near the forward endof the car, and engaged in conversation with a man whom Miller had nothitherto noticed. 

As this passenger turned his head and looked back toward Miller, thelatter saw a broad-shouldered, burly white man, and recognized in hissquare-cut jaw, his coarse, firm mouth, and the single gray eye withwhich he swept Miller for an instant with a scornful glance, awell-known character of Wellington, with whom the reader has alreadymade acquaintance in these pages. Captain McBane wore a frock coat and aslouch hat; several buttons of his vest were unbuttoned, and hissolitaire diamond blazed in his soiled shirt-front like the headlight ofa 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 hadhoped, on account of his friend's presence, that it might be avoided. 

"Excuse me, sir, " said the conductor, addressing Dr. Burns, "but did Iunderstand you to say that this man was your servant?"

"No, indeed!" replied Dr. Burns indignantly. "The gentleman is not myservant, nor anybody's servant, but is my friend. But, by the way, sincewe are on the subject, may I ask what affair it is of yours?"

"It's very much my affair, " returned the conductor, somewhat nettled atthis questioning of his authority. "I'm sorry to part _friends_, but thelaw of Virginia does not permit colored passengers to ride in the whitecars. You'll have to go forward to the next coach, " he added, addressingMiller this time. 

"I have paid my fare on the sleeping-car, where the separate-car lawdoes not apply, " remonstrated Miller. 

"I can't help that. You can doubtless get your money back from thesleeping-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 putthere 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 inwhite upon a dark background, typical, one might suppose, of thedistinction 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 stayright here. "

"I'm sorry to discommode you, " returned the conductor, "but there's nouse kicking. It's the law of Virginia, and I am bound by it as well asyou. I have already come near losing my place because of not enforcingit, and I can take no more such chances, since I have a family tosupport. "

"And my friend has his rights to maintain, " returned Dr. Burns withdetermination. "There is a vital principle at stake in the matter. "

"Really, sir, " argued the conductor, who was a man of peace and not fondof controversy, "there's no use talking--he absolutely cannot ride inthis car. "

"How can you prevent it?" asked Dr. Burns, lapsing into theargumentative stage. 

"The law gives me the right to remove him by force. I can call on thetrain crew to assist me, or on the other passengers. If I should chooseto put him off the train entirely, in the middle of a swamp, he wouldhave no redress--the law so provides. If I did not wish to use force, Icould simply switch this car off at the next siding, transfer the whitepassengers to another, and leave you and your friend in possession untilyou were arrested and fined or imprisoned. "

"What he says is absolutely true, doctor, " interposed Miller at thispoint. "It is the law, and we are powerless to resist it. If we made anytrouble, it would merely delay your journey and imperil a life at theother end. I'll go into the other car. "

"You shall not go alone, " said Dr. Burns stoutly, rising in his turn. "Aplace that is too good for you is not good enough for me. I will sitwherever you do. "

"I'm sorry again, " said the conductor, who had quite recovered hisequanimity, and calmly conscious of his power, could scarcely restrainan amused smile; "I dislike to interfere, but white passengers are notpermitted to ride in the colored car. "

"This is an outrage, " declared Dr. Burns, "a d----d outrage! You arecurtailing the rights, not only of colored people, but of white men aswell. I shall sit where I please!"

"I warn you, sir, " rejoined the conductor, hardening again, "that thelaw will be enforced. The beauty of the system lies in its strictimpartiality--it applies to both races alike. "

"And is equally infamous in both cases, " declared Dr. Burns. "I shallimmediately take steps"--

"Never mind, doctor, " interrupted Miller, soothingly, "it's only for alittle 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 wayfor Miller to pass him. 

The colored doctor took up his valise and crossed the platform to thecar ahead. It was an old car, with faded upholstery, from which thestuffing projected here and there through torn places. Apparently thefloor had not been swept for several days. The dust lay thick upon thewindow sills, and the water-cooler, from which he essayed to get adrink, was filled with stale water which had made no recent acquaintancewith ice. There was no other passenger in the car, and Miller occupiedhimself in making a rough calculation of what it would cost the Southernrailroads to haul a whole car for every colored passenger. It wasexpensive, to say the least; it would be cheaper, and quite asconsiderate 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 thispiece of legislation had contrived, with an ingenuity worthy of a bettercause, that not merely should the passengers be separated by the colorline, but that the reason for this division should be kept constantly inmind. Lest a white man should forget that he was white, --not a verylikely contingency, --these cards would keep him constantly admonished ofthe fact; should a colored person endeavor, for a moment, to lose sightof his disability, these staring signs would remind him continually thatbetween him and the rest of mankind not of his own color, there was bylaw a great gulf fixed. 

Having composed himself, Miller had opened a newspaper, and was deep inan editorial which set forth in glowing language the inestimableadvantages which would follow to certain recently acquired islands bythe introduction of American liberty, when the rear door of the caropened to give entrance to Captain George McBane, who took a seat nearthe door and lit a cigar. Miller knew him quite well by sight and byreputation, and detested him as heartily. He represented the aggressive, offensive element among the white people of the New South, who made ithard for a negro to maintain his self-respect or to enjoy even therights conceded to colored men by Southern laws. McBane had undoubtedlyidentified him to the conductor in the other car. Miller had no desireto thrust himself upon the society of white people, which, indeed, toone who had traveled so much and so far, was no novelty; but he verynaturally resented being at this late day--the law had been in operationonly a few months--branded and tagged and set apart from the rest ofmankind upon the public highways, like an unclean thing. Nevertheless, he preferred even this to the exclusive society of Captain GeorgeMcBane. 

"Porter, " he demanded of the colored train attaché who passed throughthe car a moment later, "is this a smoking car for white men?"

"No, suh, " replied the porter, "but they comes in here sometimes, whenthey ain' no cullud ladies on the kyar. "

"Well, I have paid first-class fare, and I object to that man's smokingin 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 smokingvigorously, from time to time spitting carelessly in the aisle, when theconductor entered the compartment. 

"Captain, " said Miller, "this car is plainly marked 'Colored. ' I havepaid first-class fare, and I object to riding in a smoking car. "

"All right, " returned the conductor, frowning irritably. "I'll speak tohim. "

He walked over to the white passenger, with whom he was evidentlyacquainted, since he addressed him by name. 

"Captain McBane, " he said, "it's against the law for you to ride in thenigger car. "

"Who are you talkin' to?" returned the other. "I'll ride where I damnplease. "

"Yes, sir, but the colored passenger objects. I'm afraid I'll have toask you to go into the smoking-car. "

"The hell you say!" rejoined McBane. "I'll leave this car when I getgood 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 beforeMiller had time for further expostulation. Finally McBane, having thrownthe stump of his cigar into the aisle and added to the floor a finishingtouch in the way of expectoration, rose and went back into the whitecar. 

Left alone in his questionable glory, Miller buried himself again in hisnewspaper, from which he did not look up until the engine stopped at atank station to take water. 

As the train came to a standstill, a huge negro, covered thickly withdust, crawled off one of the rear trucks unobserved, and ran round therear end of the car to a watering-trough by a neighboring well. Movedeither by extreme thirst or by the fear that his time might be too shortto permit him to draw a bucket of water, he threw himself down by thetrough, drank long and deep, and plunging his head into the water, shookhimself 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 verysingular thing. As the dusty tramp passed the rear coach, he cast towardit a glance of intense ferocity. Up to that moment the man's face, whichMiller had recognized under its grimy coating, had been that of anordinarily good-natured, somewhat reckless, pleasure-loving negro, atpresent rather the worse for wear. The change that now came over itsuggested a concentrated hatred almost uncanny in its murderousness. With awakened curiosity Miller followed the direction of the negro'sglance, and saw that it rested upon a window where Captain McBane satlooking out. When Miller looked back, the negro had disappeared. 

At the next station a Chinaman, of the ordinary laundry type, boardedthe train, and took his seat in the white car without objection. Atanother point a colored nurse found a place with her mistress. 

"White people, " said Miller to himself, who had seen these passengersfrom the window, "do not object to the negro as a servant. As thetraditional negro, --the servant, --he is welcomed; as an equal, he isrepudiated. "

Miller was something of a philosopher. He had long ago had theconclusion forced upon him that an educated man of his race, in order tolive comfortably in the United States, must be either a philosopher ora fool; and since he wished to be happy, and was not exactly a fool, hehad cultivated philosophy. By and by he saw a white man, with a dog, enter the rear coach. Miller wondered whether the dog would be allowedto ride with his master, and if not, what disposition would be made ofhim. He was a handsome dog, and Miller, who was fond of animals, wouldnot have objected to the company of a dog, as a dog. He was neverthelessconscious of a queer sensation when he saw the porter take the dog bythe collar and start in his own direction, and felt consciously relievedwhen the canine passenger was taken on past him into the baggage-carahead. 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 entirelysure that he would not have liked the porter to leave the dog there; hewas a friendly dog, and seemed inclined to be sociable. 

Toward evening the train drew up at a station where quite a party offarm laborers, fresh from their daily toil, swarmed out from theconspicuously labeled colored waiting-room, and into the car withMiller. They were a jolly, good-natured crowd, and, free from theembarrassing presence of white people, proceeded to enjoy themselvesafter their own fashion. Here an amorous fellow sat with his arm arounda buxom girl's waist. A musically inclined individual--his talents didnot go far beyond inclination--produced a mouth-organ and struck up atune, to which a limber-legged boy danced in the aisle. They were noisy, loquacious, happy, dirty, and malodorous. For a while Miller was amusedand pleased. They were his people, and he felt a certain expansivewarmth 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 thatpeople of refinement, with the power in their hands, might be tempted tostrain the democratic ideal in order to avoid such contact; butpersonally, and apart from the mere matter of racial sympathy, thesepeople were just as offensive to him as to the whites in the other endof the train. Surely, if a classification of passengers on trains was atall desirable, it might be made upon some more logical and consideratebasis than a mere arbitrary, tactless, and, by the very nature ofthings, brutal drawing of a color line. It was a veritable bed ofProcrustes, this standard which the whites had set for the negroes. Those who grew above it must have their heads cut off, figurativelyspeaking, --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 gaveconclusive evidence. 

Miller breathed more freely when the lively crowd got off at the nextstation, after a short ride. Moreover, he had a light heart, aconscience void of offense, and was only thirty years old. Hisphilosophy had become somewhat jaded on this journey, but he pulled ittogether for a final effort. Was it not, after all, a wise provision ofnature that had given to a race, destined to a long servitude and a slowemergence therefrom, a cheerfulness of spirit which enabled them tocatch pleasure on the wing, and endure with equanimity the ills thatseemed inevitable? The ability to live and thrive under adversecircumstances is the surest guaranty of the future. The race which atthe last shall inherit the earth--the residuary legatee ofcivilization--will be the race which remains longest upon it. The negrowas here before the Anglo-Saxon was evolved, and his thick lips andheavy-lidded eyes looked out from the inscrutable face of the Sphinxacross the sands of Egypt while yet the ancestors of those who nowoppress him were living in caves, practicing human sacrifice, andpainting themselves with woad--and the negro is here yet. 

"'Blessed are the meek, '" quoted Miller at the end of these consolingreflections, "'for they shall inherit the earth. ' If this be true, thenegro may yet come into his estate, for meekness seems to be set apartas 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 figurecrawled off the trucks of the rear car, on the side opposite the stationplatform. Stretching and shaking himself with a free gesture, the blackman, seeing himself unobserved, moved somewhat stiffly round the end ofthe 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 indis worl', an' I knows I ain' gwine ter die 'tel I've 'complished it. Ijes' 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 maner my size!"

VI

JANET

As the train drew up at the station platform, Dr. Price came forwardfrom the white waiting-room, and stood expectantly by the door of thewhite coach. Miller, having left his car, came down the platform in timeto 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 tohave you at my own house, but my wife is out of town. We have a goodhotel, however, and you will doubtless find it more convenient. "

"You are very kind, Dr. Price. Miller, won't you come up and dine withme?"

"Thank you, no, " said Miller, "I am expected at home. My wife and childare 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 willmake it"--

"I have asked several of the local physicians to be present at eighto'clock, " said Dr. Price. "The case can safely wait until then. "

"Very well, Miller, be on hand at eight. I shall expect you withoutfail. 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 favoritepupil of mine, and is a credit to the profession. I presume you saw hisarticle in the Medical Gazette?"

"Yes, and I assisted him in the case, " returned Dr. Price. "It was acolored lad, one of his patients, and he called me in to help him. He isa 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, whomight 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, andhave been waiting ever since. "

"Yes, papa, " piped the child, a little boy of six or seven, who satbetween 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. Hisaffairs were prosperous. Upon opening his office in the city, he hadbeen received by the members of his own profession with a cordialitygenerally frank, and in no case much reserved. The colored population ofthe city was large, but in the main poor, and the white physicians werenot unwilling to share this unprofitable practice with a colored doctorworthy of confidence. In the intervals of the work upon his hospital, hehad built up a considerable practice among his own people; but except inthe case of some poor unfortunate whose pride had been lost in povertyor sin, no white patient had ever called upon him for treatment. He knewvery well the measure of his powers, --a liberal education had given himopportunity to compare himself with other men, --and was secretlyconscious that in point of skill and knowledge he did not suffer bycomparison with any other physician in the town. He liked to believethat the race antagonism which hampered his progress and that of hispeople was a mere temporary thing, the outcome of former conditions, andbound to disappear in time, and that when a colored man shoulddemonstrate to the community in which he lived that he possessedcharacter and power, that community would find a way in which to enlisthis services for the public good. 

He had already made himself useful, and had received many kind words andother marks of appreciation. He was now offered a further confirmationof his theory: having recognized his skill, the white people were nowready to take advantage of it. Any lurking doubt he may have felt whenfirst invited by Dr. Burns to participate in the operation, had beendispelled by Dr. Price's prompt acquiescence. 

On the way homeward Miller told his wife of this appointment. She wasgreatly interested; she was herself a mother, with an only child. Moreover, there was a stronger impulse than mere humanity to draw hertoward the stricken mother. Janet had a tender heart, and could haveloved this white sister, her sole living relative of whom she knew. Allher life long she had yearned for a kind word, a nod, a smile, the leastthing that imagination might have twisted into a recognition of the tiebetween them. But it had never come. 

And yet Janet was not angry. She was of a forgiving temper; she couldnever bear malice. She was educated, had read many books, andappreciated to the full the social forces arrayed against any suchrecognition as she had dreamed of. Of the two barriers between them aman might have forgiven the one; a woman would not be likely to overlookeither the bar sinister or the difference of race, even to the slightextent of a silent recognition. Blood is thicker than water, but, if itflow 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 shereceived even the slightest encouragement. So strong was this weaknessthat she had been angry with herself for her lack of pride, or even of adecent self-respect. It was, she sometimes thought, the heritage of hermother's race, and she was ashamed of it as part of the taint ofslavery. She had never acknowledged, even to her husband, from whom sheconcealed nothing else, her secret thoughts upon this lifelong sorrow. This silent grief was nature's penalty, or society's revenge, forwhatever heritage of beauty or intellect or personal charm had come toher 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 herwhite father. 

She knew quite well how passionately, for many years, her proud sisterhad longed and prayed in vain for the child which had at length broughtjoy into her household, and she could feel, by sympathy, all thesickening suspense with which the child's parents must await the resultof this dangerous operation. 

"O Will, " she adjured her husband anxiously, when he had told her of theengagement, "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 droverapidly from the hotel to Major Carteret's. Himself a liberal man, fromhis point of view, he saw no reason why a colored doctor might notoperate upon a white male child, --there are fine distinctions in theapplication of the color line, --but several other physicians had beeninvited, some of whom were men of old-fashioned notions, who might notrelish such an innovation. 

This, however, was but a small difficulty compared with what might befeared from Major Carteret himself. For he knew Carteret's unrelentinghostility to anything that savored of recognition of the negro as theequal of white men. It was traditional in Wellington that no coloredperson had ever entered the front door of the Carteret residence, andthat the luckless individual who once presented himself there uponalleged business and resented being ordered to the back door had beenunceremoniously thrown over the piazza railing into a rather thornyclump of rosebushes below. If Miller were going as a servant, to hold abasin or a sponge, there would be no difficulty; but as a surgeon--well, he wouldn't borrow trouble. Under the circumstances the major mightyield a point. 

But as they neared the house the major's unyielding disposition loomedup 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, andshould personally like to have him with us to-night. But--I ought tohave told you this before, but I couldn't very well do so, on suchshort notice, in Miller's presence--we are a conservative people, andour local customs are not very flexible. We jog along in much the sameold way our fathers did. I'm not at all sure that Major Carteret or theother gentlemen would consent to the presence of a negro doctor. "

"I think you misjudge your own people, " returned Dr. Burns, "they arebroader than you think. We have our prejudices against the negro at theNorth, 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 theresponsibility. If the question is raised, I will attend to it. When Iam performing an operation I must be _aut Caesar, aut nullus_. "

Dr. Price was not reassured, but he had done his duty and felt thereward of virtue. If there should be trouble, he would not beresponsible. Moreover, there was a large fee at stake, and Dr. Burns wasnot likely to prove too obdurate. 

They were soon at Carteret's, where they found assembled the severalphysicians invited by Dr. Price. These were successively introduced asDrs. Dudley, Hooper, and Ashe, all of whom were gentlemen of goodstanding, socially and in their profession, and considered it a highprivilege to witness so delicate an operation at the hands of so eminenta member of their profession. 

Major Carteret entered the room and was duly presented to the famousspecialist. Carteret's anxious look lightened somewhat at sight of thearray of talent present. It suggested, of course, the gravity of theimpending event, but gave assurance of all the skill and care whichscience could afford. 

Dr. Burns was shown to the nursery, from which he returned in fiveminutes. 

"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 happyaccident, or some imperative call, had detained him. This would befortunate indeed. Dr. Burns's square jaw had a very determined look. Itwould be a pity if any acrimonious discussion should arise on the eve ofa 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 alsoa graduate of the Vienna hospitals, and a surgeon of unusual skill. Ihave asked him to assist in the operation. "

Every eye was turned toward Carteret, whose crimsoned face had set in alook 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 wouldnever 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 wedo not call negro doctors to attend white patients. I could not permit anegro to enter my house upon such an errand. "

"I am here, sir, " replied Dr. Burns with spirit, "to perform a certainoperation. Since I assume the responsibility, the case must be under myentire control. Otherwise I cannot operate. "

"Gentlemen, " interposed Dr. Price, smoothly, "I beg of you both--this isa matter for calm discussion, and any asperity is to be deplored. Thelife at stake here should not be imperiled by any consideration of minorimportance. "

"Your humanity does you credit, sir, " retorted Dr. Burns. "But othermatters, too, are important. I have invited this gentleman here. Myprofessional honor is involved, and I merely invoke my rights tomaintain it. It is a matter of principle, which ought not to give way toa mere prejudice. "

"That also states the case for Major Carteret, " rejoined Dr. Price, suavely. "He has certain principles, --call them prejudices, if youlike, --certain inflexible rules of conduct by which he regulates hislife. One of these, which he shares with us all in some degree, forbidsthe 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. Ihave invited him here in a strictly professional capacity, with whichhis 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 merequestion of prejudice, or even of personal taste. It is a sacredprinciple, lying at the very root of our social order, involving thepurity and prestige of our race. You Northern gentlemen do not quiteappreciate our situation; if you lived here a year or two you would actas we do. Of course, " he added, diplomatically, "if there were noalternative--if Dr. Burns were willing to put Dr. Miller's presence onthe ground of imperative necessity"--

"I do nothing of the kind, sir, " retorted Dr. Burns with some heat. "Ihave not come all the way from Philadelphia to undertake an operationwhich I cannot perform without the aid of some particular physician. Imerely stand upon my professional rights. "

Carteret was deeply agitated. The operation must not be deferred; hischild's life might be endangered by delay. If the negro's presence wereindispensable he would even submit to it, though in order to avoid sopainful a necessity, he would rather humble himself to the Northerndoctor. The latter course involved merely a personal sacrifice--theformer a vital principle. Perhaps there was another way of escape. Miller's presence could not but be distasteful to Mrs. Carteret forother reasons. Miller's wife was the living evidence of a painfulepisode in Mrs. Carteret's family, which the doctor's presence wouldinevitably recall. Once before, Mrs. Carteret's life had been endangeredby encountering, at a time of great nervous strain, this ill-bornsister and her child. She was even now upon the verge of collapse at theprospect of her child's suffering, and should be protected from theintrusion of any idea which might add to her distress. 

"Dr. Burns, " he said, with the suave courtesy which was part of hisinheritance, "I beg your pardon for my heat, and throw myself upon yourmagnanimity, 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 fromsaying. "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 thisstatement, sir, I throw myself upon your mercy. My child's life is worthmore to me than any earthly thing, and I must be governed by yourdecision. "

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 fewmoments. Dr. Burns finally yielded. 

"I shall nevertheless feel humiliated when I meet Miller again, " hesaid, "but of course if there is a personal question involved, thatalters the situation. Had it been merely a matter of color, I shouldhave maintained my position. As things stand, I wash my hands of thewhole 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, "andmake it all right with him. We Southern people understand the negroesbetter than you do, sir. Why should we not? They have been constantlyunder our interested observation for several hundred years. You feelthis vastly more than Miller will. He knows the feeling of the whitepeople, 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 isnot wanted. He is in fact too much of a gentleman to do so. "

"I shall leave the explanation to you entirely, " rejoined Dr. Burns, asthey reëntered the other room. 

Carteret led the way to the nursery, where the operation was to takeplace. Dr. Price lingered for a moment. Miller was not likely to bebehind the hour, if he came at all, and it would be well to head him offbefore the operation began. 

Scarcely had the rest left the room when the doorbell sounded, and aservant 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 themoment had come he wavered. He was a fine physician, but he shrank fromstrenuous responsibilities. It had been easy to theorize about thenegro; it was more difficult to look this man in the eyes--whom at thismoment he felt to be as essentially a gentleman as himself--and tell himthe humiliating truth. 

As a physician his method was to ease pain--he would rather take therisk of losing a patient from the use of an anaesthetic than from theshock of an operation. He liked Miller, wished him well, and would notwittingly wound his feelings. He really thought him too much of agentleman for the town, in view of the restrictions with which he mustinevitably be hampered. There was something melancholy, to a cultivatedmind, about a sensitive, educated man who happened to be off color. Sucha person was a sort of social misfit, an odd quantity, educated out ofhis own class, with no possible hope of entrance into that above it. Hefelt quite sure that if he had been in Miller's place, he would neverhave settled in the South--he would have moved to Europe, or to the WestIndies, or some Central or South American state where questions of colorwere not regarded as vitally important. 

Dr. Price did not like to lie, even to a negro. To a man of his owncaste, his word was his bond. If it were painful to lie, it would behumiliating to be found out. The principle of _noblesse oblige_ was alsoinvolved in the matter. His claim of superiority to the colored doctorrested fundamentally upon the fact that he was white and Miller was not;and yet this superiority, for which he could claim no credit, since hehad not made himself, was the very breath of his nostrils, --he would nothave changed places with the other for wealth untold; and as agentleman, he would not care to have another gentleman, even a coloredman, catch him in a lie. Of this, however, there was scarcely anydanger. A word to the other surgeons would insure their corroboration ofwhatever he might tell Miller. No one of them would willingly wound Dr. Miller or embarrass Dr. Price; indeed, they need not know that Millerhad come in time for the operation. 

"I'm sorry, Miller, " he said with apparent regret, "but we were hereahead 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 askedme to explain why we did not wait for you. "

"I'm sorry too, " returned Miller, regretfully, but nothing doubting. Hewas well aware that in such cases danger might attend upon delay. He hadlost 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 hewould be asked to remain. 

"All is well, so far. Step round to my office in the morning, Miller, orcome in when you're passing, and I'll tell you the details. "

This was tantamount to a dismissal, so Miller took his leave. Descendingthe doorsteps, he stood for a moment, undecided whether to return homeor to go to the hotel and await the return of Dr. Burns, when he heardhis name called from the house in a low tone. 

"Oh, doctuh!"

He stepped back toward the door, outside of which stood the coloredservant 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' youcome--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' haveyou, 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 altogetheryo' color he objected to, an' wid dat de No'then doctuh give in. He'sa fine man, suh, but dey wuz too much fer 'im!"

"Thank you, Sam, I'm much obliged, " returned Miller mechanically. "Onelikes to know the truth. "

Truth, it has been said, is mighty, and must prevail; but it sometimesleaves a bad taste in the mouth. In the ordinary course of events Millerwould not have anticipated such an invitation, and for that reason hadappreciated 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 amiablelie, which had been meant to spare his feelings, or thanked Sam a greatdeal 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 haveit. He was wounded, too, and wanted sympathy, of which Janet was anexhaustless fountain. So he told her what had happened. She comfortedhim after the manner of a loving woman, and felt righteously indignanttoward her sister's husband, who had thus been instrumental in thehumiliation of her own. Her anger did not embrace her sister, and yetshe felt obscurely that their unacknowledged relationship had been themalignant force which had given her husband pain, and defeated hishonorable ambition. When Dr. Price entered the nursery, Dr. Burns wasleaning attentively over the operating table. The implements needed forthe operation were all in readiness--the knives, the basin, the sponge, the materials for dressing the wound--all the ghastly paraphernalia ofvivisection. 

Mrs. Carteret had been banished to another room, where Clara vainlyattempted to soothe her. Old Mammy Jane, still burdened by her fears, fervently prayed the good Lord to spare the life of the sweet littlegrandson of her dear old mistress. 

Dr. Burns had placed his ear to the child's chest, which had been baredfor the incision. Dr. Price stood ready to administer the anaesthetic. Little Dodie looked up with a faint expression of wonder, as if dimlyconscious of some unusual event. The major shivered at the thought ofwhat 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. Theobstruction seems to have shifted. "

Applying his ear again to the child's throat, he listened for a momentintently, and then picking the baby up from the table, gave it a coupleof sharp claps between the shoulders. Simultaneously a small object shotout from the child's mouth, struck Dr. Price in the neighborhood of hiswaistband, and then rattled lightly against the floor. Whereupon thebaby, as though conscious of his narrow escape, smiled and gurgled, andreaching upward clutched the doctor's whiskers with his little hand, which, according to old Jane, had a stronger grip than any otherinfant's in Wellington. 

VIII

THE CAMPAIGN DRAGS

The campaign for white supremacy was dragging. Carteret had set out, inthe columns of the Morning Chronicle, all the reasons why this movement, inaugurated by the three men who had met, six months before, at theoffice of the Chronicle, should be supported by the white public. Negrocitizenship was a grotesque farce--Sambo and Dinah raised from thekitchen to the cabinet were a spectacle to make the gods laugh. The lawsby which it had been sought to put the negroes on a level with thewhites must be swept away in theory, as they had failed in fact. If itwere impossible, without a further education of public opinion, tosecure the repeal of the fifteenth amendment, it was at least the solemnduty of the state to endeavor, through its own constitution, to escapefrom the domination of a weak and incompetent electorate and confine thenegro to that inferior condition for which nature had evidently designedhim. 

In spite of the force and intelligence with which Carteret had expressedthese and similar views, they had not met the immediate responseanticipated. There were thoughtful men, willing to let well enoughalone, who saw no necessity for such a movement. They believed thatpeace, prosperity, and popular education offered a surer remedy forsocial 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 toadmit, privately, that a class constituting half to two thirds of thepopulation were fairly entitled to some representation in the law-makingbodies. Perhaps there might have been found, somewhere in the state, asingle white man ready to concede that all men were entitled to equalrights before the law. 

That there were some white men who had learned little and forgottennothing goes without saying, for knowledge and wisdom are notimpartially distributed among even the most favored race. There wereignorant and vicious negroes, and they had a monopoly of neitherignorance nor crime, for there were prosperous negroes andpoverty-stricken whites. Until Carteret and his committee began theirbaleful campaign the people of the state were living in peace andharmony. The anti-negro legislation in more southern states, with largenegro majorities, had awakened scarcely an echo in this state, with apopulation two thirds white. Even the triumph of the Fusion party hadnot been regarded as a race issue. It remained for Carteret and hisfriends to discover, with inspiration from whatever supernatural sourcethe discriminating reader may elect, that the darker race, docile byinstinct, humble by training, patiently waiting upon its as yetuncertain 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 matterhow cast or by whom directed. 

To discuss means for counteracting this apathy, a meeting of the "BigThree, " as they had begun to designate themselves jocularly, was held atthe office of the "Morning Chronicle, " on the next day but one afterlittle Dodie's fortunate escape from the knife. 

"It seems, " said General Belmont, opening the discussion, "as though wehad undertaken more than we can carry through. It is clear that we mustreckon on opposition, both at home and abroad. If we are to hope forsuccess, we must extend the lines of our campaign. The North, as well asour own people, must be convinced that we have right upon our side. Weare conscious of the purity of our motives, but we should avoid even theappearance of evil. "

McBane was tapping the floor impatiently with his foot during thisharangue. 

"I don't see the use, " he interrupted, "of so much beating about thebush. We may as well be honest about this thing. We are going to put theniggers down because we want to, and think we can; so why waste our timein 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, "yourfrankness does you credit, --'an honest man's the noblest work ofGod, '--but we cannot carry on politics in these degenerate times withouta certain amount of diplomacy. In the good old days when your father wasalive, and perhaps nowadays in the discipline of convicts, direct andsimple methods might be safely resorted to; but this is a modern age, and in dealing with so fundamental a right as the suffrage we mustprofess a decent regard for the opinions of even that misguided portionof mankind which may not agree with us. This is the age of crowds, andwe must have the crowd with us. " The captain flushed at the allusionto his father's calling, at which he took more offense than at themention of his own. He knew perfectly well that these old aristocrats, while reaping the profits of slavery, had despised the instruments bywhich they were attained--the poor-white overseer only less than theblack slave. McBane was rich; he lived in Wellington, but he had neverbeen 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, andthen he would have his innings, --he would have more to say than theydreamed, as to who should fill the offices under the new deal. Men of nobetter birth or breeding than he had represented Southern states inCongress since the war. Why should he not run for governor, representative, whatever he chose? He had money enough to buy out half adozen of these broken-down aristocrats, and money was all-powerful. 

"You see, captain, " the general went on, looking McBane smilingly andunflinchingly in the eye, "we need white immigration--we need Northerncapital. 'A good name is better than great riches, ' and we must proveour cause a righteous one. "

"We must be armed at all points, " added Carteret, "and prepared fordefense as well as for attack, --we must make our campaign a nationalone. "

"For instance, " resumed the general, "you, Carteret, represent theAssociated Press. Through your hands passes all the news of the state. What more powerful medium for the propagation of an idea? The man whowould govern a nation by writing its songs was a blethering idiot besidethe fellow who can edit its news dispatches. The negroes are playinginto 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 moreimpudent and self-assertive every day. A yellow demagogue in New Yorkmade a speech only a few days ago, in which he deliberately, and in coldblood, advised negroes to defend themselves to the death when attackedby white people! I remember well the time when it was death for a negroto 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 McBanehad 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 somegood campaign material. "

"Yes, " returned Carteret, "we must see to that. I threw a copy into thewaste-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 thegeneral an eighteen by twenty-four sheet, poorly printed on cheap paper, with a "patent" inside, a number of advertisements of proprietarymedicines, quack doctors, and fortune-tellers, and two or three columnsof editorial and local news. Candor compels the admission that it wasnot an impressive sheet in any respect, except when regarded as thefirst local effort of a struggling people to make public expression oftheir life and aspirations. From this point of view it did not speak atall 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 orfive shades lighter, and of a mulatto perfectly white. When you get thecolor you wish, stop using the preparation. '

"Just look at those heads!--'Before using' and 'After using. ' We'dbetter hurry, or there'll be no negroes to disfranchise! If they don'tstop till they get the color they desire, and the stuff works accordingto contract, they'll all be white. Ah! what have we here? This looks asthough it might be serious. " Opening the sheet the general read aloudan editorial article, to which Carteret listened intently, hisindignation 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 itscauses. It denied that most lynchings were for the offense mostgenerally charged as their justification, and declared that, even ofthose seemingly traced to this cause, many were not for crimes at all, but for voluntary acts which might naturally be expected to follow fromthe miscegenation laws by which it was sought, in all the SouthernStates, to destroy liberty of contract, and, for the purpose ofmaintaining a fanciful purity of race, to make crimes of marriages towhich neither nature nor religion nor the laws of other statesinterposed any insurmountable barrier. Such an article in a Northernnewspaper would have attracted no special attention, and might merelyhave furnished food to an occasional reader for serious thought upon asubject not exactly agreeable; but coming from a colored man, in aSouthern city, it was an indictment of the laws and social system of theSouth that could not fail of creating a profound sensation. 

"Infamous--infamous!" exclaimed Carteret, his voice trembling withemotion. "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 ofindignation had subsided, "I believe we can find a more effective usefor this article, which, by the way, will not bear too closeanalysis, --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 areeliminated by the stress of competition, it must be upon terms which welay down. One of our conditions is violated by this article, in whichour wisdom is assailed, and our women made the subject of offensivecomment. We must make known our disapproval. "

"I say lynch the nigger, break up the press, and burn down the newspaperoffice, " McBane responded promptly. 

"Gentlemen, " interposed the general, "would you mind suspending thediscussion for a moment, while I mind Jerry across the street? I think Ican then suggest a better plan. "

Carteret rang the bell for Jerry, who answered promptly. He had beenexpecting such a call ever since the gentlemen had gone in. 

"Jerry, " said the general, "step across to Brown's and tell him to sendme 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 hadalways grated upon his aristocratic susceptibilities. The captain was anupstart, a product of the democratic idea operating upon the poor whiteman, the descendant of the indentured bondservant and the sociallyunfit. He had wealth and energy, however, and it was necessary to makeuse of him; but the example of such men was a strong incentive toCarteret in his campaign against the negro. It was distasteful enough torub elbows with an illiterate and vulgar white man of no ancestry, --therisk of similar contact with negroes was to be avoided at any cost. Hecould hardly expect McBane to be a gentleman, but when among men of thatclass he might at least try to imitate their manners. A gentleman didnot order his own servants around offensively, to say nothing ofanother's. 

The general had observed Carteret's annoyance, and remarked pleasantlywhile 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 thegovernment. 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'llgrovel at your feet, and for a cast-off coat you can buy an option onhis 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 scrubrace, an affliction to the country, and the quicker we're rid of 'emall the better. "

Carteret had nothing to say by way of dissent. McBane's sentiments, intheir last analysis, were much the same as his, though he would haveexpressed them less brutally. "The negro, " observed the general, daintily flicking the ash from his cigar, "is all right in his place andvery useful to the community. We lived on his labor for quite a longtime, and lived very well. Nevertheless we are better off withoutslavery, for we can get more out of the free negro, and with lessresponsibility. I really do not see how we could get along without thenegroes. If they were all like Jerry, we'd have no trouble with them. "

Having procured the drinks, Jerry, the momentary subject of the racediscussion which goes on eternally in the South, was making his way backacross the street, somewhat disturbed in mind. 

"O Lawd!" he groaned, "I never troubles trouble till trouble troublesme; but w'en I got dem drinks befo', Gin'l Belmont gimme half a dollaran' tol' me ter keep de change. Dis time he didn' say nothin' 'bout dechange. I s'pose he jes' fergot erbout it, but w'at is a po' niggergwine ter do w'en he has ter conten' wid w'ite folks's fergitfulniss? Idon' 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. Thateditorial in the negro newspaper is good campaign matter, but we shouldreserve it until it will be most effective. Suppose we just stick it ina pigeon-hole, and let the editor, --what's his name?"

"The nigger's name is Barber, " replied McBane. "I'd like to have himunder me for a month or two; he'd write no more editorials. "

"Let Barber have all the rope he wants, " resumed the general, "andhe'll be sure to hang himself. In the mean time we will continue to workup public opinion, --we can use this letter privately for thatpurpose, --and when the state campaign opens we'll print the editorial, with suitable comment, scatter it broadcast throughout the state, firethe Southern heart, organize the white people on the color line, have alittle demonstration with red shirts and shotguns, scare the negroesinto fits, win the state for white supremacy, and teach our coloredfellow citizens that we are tired of negro domination and have put anend to it forever. The Afro-American Banner will doubtless die about thesame time. "

"And so will the editor!" exclaimed McBane ferociously; "I'll see tothat. But I wonder where that nigger is with them cocktails? I'm sothirsty I could swallow blue blazes. "

"Here's yo' drinks, gin'l, " announced Jerry, entering with the glasseson a tray. 

The gentlemen exchanged compliments and imbibed--McBane at a gulp, Carteret with more deliberation, leaving about half the contents of hisglass. 

The general drank slowly, with every sign of appreciation. "If theillustrious statesman, " he observed, "whose name this mixture bears, haddone nothing more than invent it, his fame would still deserve to gothundering 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 hadscarcely 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; thanky', 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 remainingcontents of Major Carteret's glass. "I 'lowed dem twenty cents wuz gonedat time, --an' whar I wuz gwine ter git de money ter take my gal ter dechu'ch festibal ter-night, de Lawd only knows!--'less'n I borried itoffn Mr. Ellis, an' I owes him sixty cents a'ready. But I wonduh w'atdem w'ite folks in dere is up ter? Dere's one thing sho', --dey'regwine 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'mgwine ter look at dat newspaper dey be'n talkin' 'bout, an' 'less'n mymin' changes might'ly, I'm gwine ter keep my mouf shet an' stan' in widde Angry-Saxon race, --ez dey calls deyse'ves nowadays, --an' keep on deright side er my bread an' meat. Wat nigger ever give me twenty cents inall my bawn days?"

"By the way, major, " said the general, who lingered behind McBane asthey were leaving, "is Miss Clara's marriage definitely settled upon?"

"Well, general, not exactly; but it's the understanding that they willmarry when they are old enough. "

"I was merely thinking, " the general went on, "that if I were you I'dspeak to Tom about cards and liquor. He gives more time to both than ayoung man can afford. I'm speaking in his interest and in MissClara'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 plansthere laid out, McBane traveled extensively through the state, workingup sentiment in favor of the new movement. He possessed a certainforceful eloquence; and white supremacy was so obviously the divineintention that he had merely to affirm the doctrine in order to secureadherents. 

General Belmont, whose business required him to spend much of the winterin Washington and New York, lost no opportunity to get the ear oflawmakers, editors, and other leaders of national opinion, and toimpress upon them, with persuasive eloquence, the impossibility ofmaintaining existing conditions, and the tremendous blunder which hadbeen made in conferring the franchise upon the emancipated race. 

Carteret conducted the press campaign, and held out to the Republicansof the North the glittering hope that, with the elimination of the negrovote, and a proper deference to Southern feeling, a strong whiteRepublican party might be built up in the New South. How well the baittook is a matter of history, --but the promised result is still in thefuture. The disfranchisement of the negro has merely changed the form ofthe same old problem. The negro had no vote before the rebellion, andfew other rights, and yet the negro question was, for a century, thepivot of American politics. It plunged the nation into a bloody war, and it will trouble the American government and the American conscienceuntil a sustained attempt is made to settle it upon principles ofjustice and equity. 

The personal ambitions entertained by the leaders of this movement arebut slightly involved in this story. McBane's aims have been touchedupon elsewhere. The general would have accepted the nomination forgovernor of the state, with a vision of a senatorship in the future. Carteret hoped to vindicate the supremacy of his race, and make thestate fit for his son to live in, and, incidentally, he would not refuseany office, worthy of his dignity, which a grateful people might thrustupon him. 

So powerful a combination of bigot, self-seeking demagogue, and astutepolitician was fraught with grave menace to the peace of the state andthe liberties of the people, --by which is meant the whole people, andnot 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 inclinedtoward indulgence for the foibles of youth. A young gentleman shouldhave a certain knowledge of life, --but there were limits. Clara's futurehappiness 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, andsent Tom down to the Chronicle office to leave an advertisement. Themajor saw him at the desk, invited him into his sanctum, and deliveredhim a mild lecture. The major was kind, and talked in a fatherly wayabout the danger of extremes, the beauty of moderation, and the value ofdiscretion as a rule of conduct. He mentioned collaterally theunblemished honor of a fine old family, its contemplated alliance withhis own, and dwelt upon the sweet simplicity of Clara's character. Themajor was a man of feeling and of tact, and could not have put thesubject in a way less calculated to wound the _amour propre_ of a veryyoung man. 

Delamere had turned red with anger while the major was speaking. He wasimpulsive, and an effort was required to keep back the retort thatsprang once or twice to his lips; but his conscience was not clear, andhe could not afford hard words with Clara's guardian and hisgrandfather's friend. Clara was rich, and the most beautiful girl intown; they were engaged; he loved her as well as he could love anythingof which he seemed sure; and he did not mean that any one else shouldhave her. The major's mild censure disturbed slightly his sense ofsecurity; and while the major's manner did not indicate that he knewanything definite against him, it would be best to let well enoughalone. 

"Thank you, major, " he said, with well-simulated frankness. "I realizethat I may have been a little careless, more from thoughtlessness thananything else; but my heart is all right, sir, and I am glad that myconduct has been brought to your attention, for what you have saidenables me to see it in a different light. I will be more careful of mycompany hereafter; for I love Clara, and mean to try to be worthy ofher. Do you know whether she will be at home this evening?"

"I have heard nothing to the contrary, " replied the major warmly. "Callher 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 Elliscoming up the stairs. It had several times of late occurred to Tom thatEllis had a sneaking fondness for Clara. Panoplied in his ownengagement, Tom had heretofore rather enjoyed the idea of a hopelessrival. Ellis was such a solemn prig, and took life so seriously, that itwas a pleasure to see him sit around sighing for the unattainable. Thathe should be giving pain to Ellis added a certain zest to his ownenjoyment. But this interview with the major had so disquieted himthat upon meeting Ellis upon the stairs he was struck by a suddensuspicion. He knew that Major Carteret seldom went to the ClarendonClub, 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 likelythan 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 usinghim well of late; bad luck had pursued him, in cards and other things, and despite his assumption of humility, Carteret's lecture had left himin an ugly mood. He nodded curtly to Ellis without relaxing the scowlthat disfigured his handsome features. 

"That's the damned sneak who's been giving me away, " he muttered. "I'llget even with him yet for this. "

Delamere's suspicions with regard to Ellis's feelings were not, as wehave seen, entirely without foundation. Indeed, he had underestimatedthe strength of this rivalry and its chances of success. Ellis had beenwatching Delamere for a year. There had been nothing surreptitious aboutit, but his interest in Clara had led him to note things about hisfavored rival which might have escaped the attention of others lessconcerned. 

Ellis was an excellent judge of character, and had formed a very decidedopinion of Tom Delamere. To Ellis, unbiased by ancestral traditions, biased perhaps by jealousy, Tom Delamere was a type of the degeneratearistocrat. If, as he had often heard, it took three or four generationsto make a gentleman, and as many more to complete the curve and returnto the base from which it started, Tom Delamere belonged somewhere onthe downward slant, with large possibilities of further decline. OldMr. Delamere, who might be taken as the apex of an ideal aristocraticdevelopment, had been distinguished, during his active life, as Ellishad learned, for courage and strength of will, courtliness of bearing, deference to his superiors, of whom there had been few, courtesy to hisequals, kindness and consideration for those less highly favored, andabove all, a scrupulous sense of honor; his grandson Tom was merely theshadow without the substance, the empty husk without the grain. Of gracehe had plenty. In manners he could be perfect, when he so chose. Courageand strength he had none. Ellis had seen this fellow, who boasted of hisdescent from a line of cavaliers, turn pale with fright and spring froma buggy to which was harnessed a fractious horse, which a negrostable-boy drove fearlessly. A valiant carpet-knight, skilled in allparlor exercises, great at whist or euchre, a dream of a dancer, unexcelled in Cakewalk or "coon" impersonations, for which he was inlarge social demand, Ellis had seen him kick an inoffensive negro out ofhis path and treat a poor-white man with scant courtesy. He suspectedDelamere of cheating at cards, and knew that others entertained the samesuspicion. For while regular in his own habits, --his poverty would nothave permitted him any considerable extravagance, --Ellis's position as anewspaper man kept him in touch with what was going on about town. Hewas a member, proposed by Carteret, of the Clarendon Club, where cardswere indulged in within reasonable limits, and a certain set were knownto bet dollars in terms of dimes. 

Delamere was careless, too, about money matters. He had a habit ofborrowing, right and left, small sums which might be convenientlyforgotten by the borrower, and for which the lender would dislike toask. Ellis had a strain of thrift, derived from a Scotch ancestry, and atenacious memory for financial details. Indeed, he had never had so muchmoney that he could lose track of it. He never saw Delamere withoutbeing distinctly conscious that Delamere owed him four dollars, which hehad lent at a time when he could ill afford to spare it. It was aprerogative of aristocracy, Ellis reflected, to live upon others, andthe last privilege which aristocracy in decay would willinglyrelinquish. Neither did the aristocratic memory seem able to retain thesordid details of a small pecuniary transaction. 

No doubt the knowledge that Delamere was the favored lover of MissPemberton lent a touch of bitterness to Ellis's reflections upon hisrival. Ellis had no grievance against the "aristocracy" of Wellington. The "best people" had received him cordially, though his father had notbeen of their caste; but Ellis hated a hypocrite, and despised a coward, and he felt sure that Delamere was both. Otherwise he would havestruggled against his love for Clara Pemberton. His passion for her hadgrown with his appreciation of Delamere's unworthiness. As a friend ofthe family, he knew the nature and terms of the engagement, and that ifthe 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 toa 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, buthe had missed no opportunity of meeting her and making himself quietlyand unobtrusively agreeable. 

On the day after this encounter with Delamere on the stairs of theChronicle office, Ellis, while walking down Vine Street, met old Mrs. Ochiltree. She was seated in her own buggy, which was of ancient buildand pattern, driven by her colored coachman and man of all work. 

"Mr. Ellis, " she called in a shrill voice, having directed her coachmanto 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 drinkinghard, 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 couldtell you better than I. "

"You are dodging my question, Mr. Ellis. Sandy wouldn't tell me thetruth, 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 ismere idle gossip, and the truth is often grossly exaggerated. I'm amember of the same club with Delamere, and gentlemen who belong to thesame club are not in the habit of talking about one another. As long asa man retains his club membership, he's presumed to be a gentleman. Iwouldn't say anything against Delamere if I could. "

"You don't need to, " replied the old lady, shaking her finger at himwith a cunning smile. "You are a very open young man, Mr. Ellis, and Ican read you like a book. You are much smarter than you look, but youcan'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 washolding him in her arms. He was a fine baby, and bade fair to realizethe bright hopes built upon him. 

"You hold a baby very naturally, Clara, " chuckled the old lady. "Isuppose you are in training. But you ought to talk to Tom. I have justlearned from Mr. Ellis that Tom is carried home drunk two or three timesa week, and that he is gambling in the most reckless manner imaginable. "

Clara's eyes flashed indignantly. Ere she could speak, Mrs. Carteretexclaimed:--

"Why, Aunt Polly! did Mr. Ellis say that?"

"I got it from Dinah, " she replied, "who heard it from her husband, wholearned 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 himpoint blank, and he didn't deny it. He's a member of the club, andought to know. "

"Well, Aunt Polly, it can't be true. Tom is here every other night, andhow could he carry on so without showing the signs of it? and wherewould 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'sindignation had not yet found vent in speech; Olivia had said all thatwas necessary, but she had been thinking rapidly. Even if all this hadbeen true, why should Mr. Ellis have said it? Or, if he had not statedit directly, he had left the inference to be drawn. It seemed a mostunfair and ungentlemanly thing. What motive could Ellis have for such anact?

She was not long in reaching a conclusion which was not flattering toEllis. Mr. Ellis came often to the house, and she had enjoyed hissociety in a friendly way. That he had found her pleasant company hadbeen very evident. She had never taken his attentions seriously, however, or regarded his visits as made especially to her, nor had therest of the family treated them from that point of view. Her engagementto Tom Delamere, though not yet formally ratified, was so wellunderstood by the world of Wellington that Mr. Ellis would, scarcelyhave presumed to think of her as anything more than a friend. 

This revelation of her aunt's, however, put a different face upon hisconduct. Certain looks and sighs and enigmatical remarks of Ellis, towhich she had paid but casual attention and attached no particularsignificance, now recurred to her memory with a new meaning. He had nowevidently tried, in a roundabout way, to besmirch Tom's character andundermine him in her regard. While loving Tom, she had liked Ellis wellenough, as a friend; but he had abused the privileges of friendship, andshe 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 oftruth in what had been said, enough, at least, to justify her inwarning Tom to be careful, lest his enemies should distort some amiableweakness into a serious crime. 

She put this view of the case to Tom at their next meeting, assuringhim, at the same time, of her unbounded faith and confidence. She didnot mention Ellis's name, lest Tom, in righteous indignation, might dosomething rash, which he might thereafter regret. If any subtler or moreobscure motive kept her silent as to Ellis, she was not aware of it; forClara's views of life were still in the objective stage, and she had notyet fathomed the deepest recesses of her own consciousness. 

Delamere had the cunning of weakness. He knew, too, better than any oneelse 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 anindignant denial. After a little rapid reflection, he decided upon adifferent course. 

"Clara, " he said with a sigh, taking the hand which she generouslyyielded to soften any suggestion of reproach which he may have read intoher 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 heardmore than you have told me, --but I think I could guess the man they camefrom. I am not perfect, Clara, though I have done nothing of which agentleman should be ashamed. There is one sure way to stop the tongue ofcalumny. My home life is not ideal, --grandfather is an old, weak man, and the house needs the refining and softening influence of a lady'spresence. I do not love club life; its ideals are not elevating. Withyou by my side, dearest, I should be preserved from every influenceexcept the purest and the best. Don't you think, dearest, that the majormight be induced to shorten our weary term of waiting?"

"Oh, Tom, " she demurred blushingly, "I shall be young enough ateighteen; and you are barely twenty-one. "

But Tom proved an eloquent pleader, and love a still more persuasiveadvocate. Clara spoke to the major the same evening, who looked grave atthe suggestion, and said he would think about it. They were both veryyoung; but where both parties were of good family, in good health andgood circumstances, an early marriage might not be undesirable. Tom wasperhaps a little unsettled, but blood would tell in the long run, andmarriage always exercised a steadying influence. 

The only return, therefore, which Ellis received for his well-meanteffort to ward off Mrs. Ochiltree's embarrassing inquiries was that hedid not see Clara upon his next visit, which was made one afternoonwhile he was on night duty at the office. In conversation with Mrs. Carteret he learned that Clara's marriage had been definitely agreedupon, and the date fixed, --it was to take place in about six months. Meeting Miss Pemberton on the street the following day, he received theslightest of nods. When he called again at the house, after a week ofmisery, she treated him with a sarcastic coolness which chilled hisheart. 

"How have I offended you, Miss Clara?" he demanded desperately, whenthey were left alone for a moment. 

"Offended me?" she replied, lifting her eyebrows with an air of puzzledsurprise. "Why, Mr. Ellis! What could have put such a notion into yourhead? 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'reexpecting Aunt Polly this afternoon, --if you'll stay awhile she'll beglad to talk to you! You can tell her all the interesting news aboutyour 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 uponthe slanderer, ran upstairs to the nursery, and, snatching Dodie fromMammy Jane's arms, began dancing gayly with him round the room. 

"Look a-hyuh, honey, " said Mammy Jane, "you better be keerful wid datchile, an' don' drap 'im on de flo'. You might let him fall on his headan' 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 desedays, " she chuckled unctuously. 

Mammy Jane had been very much disturbed by the recent dangers throughwhich little Dodie had passed; and his escape from strangulation, in thefirst place, and then from the knife had impressed her as little lessthan miraculous. She was not certain whether this result had beenbrought about by her manipulation of the buried charm, or by the prayerswhich had been offered for the child, but was inclined to believe thatboth had cooperated to avert the threatened calamity. The favorableoutcome of this particular incident had not, however, altered thegeneral situation. Prayers and charms, after all, were merely temporarythings, which must be constantly renewed, and might be forgotten oroverlooked; while the mole, on the contrary, neither faded nor wentaway. If its malign influence might for a time seem to disappear, it wasmerely lying dormant, like the germs of some deadly disease, awaitingits 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 nurserywindow, 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, whoat that moment entered the room, "come and look at Dodie. "

The baby was listening intently to the music, meanwhile gurgling withdelight, and reaching his chubby hands toward the source of thispleasing sound. It seemed as though the mockingbird were aware of hisappreciative audience, for he ran through the songs of a dozen differentbirds, selecting, with the discrimination of a connoisseur and entireconfidence in his own powers, those which were most difficult and mostalluring. 

Mrs. Carteret approached the window, followed by Mammy Jane, who waddledover to join the admiring party. So absorbed were the three women in thebaby 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 thehouse. 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 awistful expression, was looking toward the party grouped in the openwindow. 

Mrs. Carteret, chancing to lower her eyes for an instant, caught theother woman's look directed toward her and her child. With a glance ofcold aversion she turned away from the window. 

Old Mammy Jane had observed this movement, and had divined the reasonfor it. She stood beside Clara, watching the retreating buggy. 

"Uhhuh!" she said to herself, "it's huh sister Janet! She ma'ied adoctuh, 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 sighter her, an' never will, ez long ez de sun rises an' sets. Dey ce't'nlydoes 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 tersee a nigger gal ridin' in her own buggy? My, my! but I don' know, --Idon' know! It don' look right, an' it ain' gwine ter las'!--you can'tmake me b'lieve!"

Meantime Janet, stung by Mrs. Carteret's look, --the nearest approach shehad ever made to a recognition of her sister's existence, --had turnedaway with hardening face. She had struck her pony sharply with the whip, much to the gentle creature's surprise, when the little boy, who wasstill looking back, caught his mother's sleeve and exclaimedexcitedly:--

"Look, look, mamma! The baby, --the baby!"

Janet turned instantly, and with a mother's instinct gave an involuntarycry of alarm. 

At the moment when Mrs. Carteret had turned away from the window, andwhile Mammy Jane was watching Janet, Clara had taken a step forward, andwas 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 slippedthrough her hands, and held it tenaciously, though too frightened for aninstant to do more. Mammy Jane, ashen with sudden dread, uttered aninarticulate scream, but retained self-possession enough to reach downand draw up the child, which hung dangerously suspended, head downward, over the brick pavement below. 

"Oh, Clara, Clara, how could you!" exclaimed Mrs. Carteretreproachfully; "you might have killed my child!"

She had snatched the child from Jane's arms, and was holding him closelyto her own breast. Struck by a sudden thought, she drew near the windowand looked out. Twice within a few weeks her child had been in seriousdanger, and upon each occasion a member of the Miller family had beeninvolved, for she had heard of Dr. Miller's presumption in trying toforce 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 thisbaseborn sister who had thus thrust herself beneath her eyes. If she hadnot cast her brazen glance toward the window, she herself would not haveturned away and lost sight of her child. To this shameless intrusion, linked with Clara's carelessness, had been due the catastrophe, sonarrowly averted, which might have darkened her own life forever. Shetook to her bed for several days, and for a long time was cold towardClara, and did not permit her to touch the child. 

Mammy Jane entertained a theory of her own about the accident, by whichthe blame was placed, in another way, exactly where Mrs. Carteret hadlaid it. Julia's daughter, Janet, had been looking intently toward thewindow just before little Dodie had sprung from Clara's arms. Might shenot have cast the evil eye upon the baby, and sought thereby to draw himout of the window? One would not ordinarily expect so young a woman topossess such a power, but she might have acquired it, for this verypurpose, from some more experienced person. By the same reasoning, themockingbird might have been a familiar of the witch, and the two mighthave conspired to lure the infant to destruction. Whether this were soor not, the transaction at least wore a peculiar look. There was no usetelling Mis' 'Livy about it, for she didn't believe, or pretended notto believe, in witchcraft and conjuration. But one could not be toocareful. The child was certainly born to be exposed to greatdangers, --the mole behind the left ear was an unfailing sign, --and noprecaution should be omitted to counteract its baleful influence. 

While adjusting the baby's crib, a few days later, Mrs. Carteret foundfastened under one of the slats a small bag of cotton cloth, about halfan inch long and tied with a black thread, upon opening which she founda few small roots or fibres and a pinch of dried and crumpled herbs. Itwas a good-luck charm which Mammy Jane had placed there to ward off thethreatened evil from the grandchild of her dear old mistress. Mrs. Carteret's first impulse was to throw the bag into the fire, but onsecond thoughts she let it remain. To remove it would give unnecessarypain to the old nurse. Of course these old negro superstitions wereabsurd, --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. Millerwas making his early rounds, a new patient walked in with a smile on hisface and a broken arm hanging limply by his side. Miller recognized inhim a black giant by the name of Josh Green, who for many years hadworked on the docks for Miller's father, --and simultaneously identifiedhim as the dust-begrimed negro who had stolen a ride to Wellington onthe trucks of a passenger car. 

"Well, Josh, " asked the doctor, as he examined the fracture, "how didyou get this? Been fighting again?"

"No, suh, I don' s'pose you could ha'dly call it a fight. One er demdagoes off'n a Souf American boat gimme some er his jaw, an' I give 'ima back answer, an' here I is wid a broken arm. He got holt er abelayin'-pin befo' I could hit 'im. "

"What became of the other man?" demanded Miller suspiciously. Heperceived, from the indifference with which Josh bore the manipulationof the fractured limb, that such an accident need not have interferedseriously with the use of the remaining arm, and he knew that Josh had areputation for absolute fearlessness. 

"Lemme see, " said Josh reflectively, "ef I kin 'member w'at _did_ becomeer him! Oh, yes, I 'member now! Dey tuck him ter de Marine Horspittlein 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 deway 'long de street. I didn' wan' ter kill de man, fer he might havesomebody dependin' on 'im, an' I knows how dat'd be ter dem. But no mankin call me a damn' low-down nigger and keep on enjoyin' good healthright along. "

"It was considerate of you to spare his life, " said Miller dryly, "butyou'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'llbe a lynching, or a funeral. You'd better be peaceable and endure alittle injustice, rather than run the risk of a sudden and violentdeath. "

"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 terdie at the same time, er a little befo'. I be'n takin' my own time 'boutkillin' 'im; I ain' be'n crowdin' de man, but I'll be ready after aw'ile, an' den he kin look out!"

"And I suppose you're merely keeping in practice on these other fellowswho come your way. When I get your arm dressed, you'd better leave towntill that fellow's boat sails; it may save you the expense of a trialand three months in the chain-gang. But this talk about killing a man isall nonsense. What has any man in this town done to you, that you shouldthirst for his blood?"

"No, suh, it ain' nonsense, --it's straight, solem' fac'. I'm gwine terkill dat man as sho' as I'm settin' in dis cheer; an' dey ain' nobodykin 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 aboutthem. 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 'membersmo' erbout it 'n you does. My mammy an' daddy lived 'bout ten miles f'mhere, 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 sheain' be'n herse'f f'm dat day ter dis. I wa'n't mo' 'n ten years ole atde time, an' w'en my mammy seed de w'ite men comin', she tol' me terrun. I hid in de bushes an' seen de whole thing, an' it wuz branded onmy mem'ry, suh, like a red-hot iron bran's de skin. De w'ite folks hadmasks 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 faceter 'member; an' I swo' den, 'way down deep in my hea't, little ez Iwuz, dat some day er 'nother I'd kill dat man. I ain't never had nodoubt erbout it; it's jus' w'at I'm livin' fer, an' I know I ain' gwineter die till I've done it. Some lives fer one thing an' some feranother, but dat's my job. I ain' be'n in no has'e, fer I'm not oleyit, an' dat man is in good health. I'd like ter see a little er deworl' 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 someer dese days, an den _his_ time'll be come--an' prob'ly mine. But Iain' keerin' 'bout myse'f: w'en I git thoo wid him, it won' make nodiff'ence 'bout me. "

Josh was evidently in dead earnest. Miller recalled, very vividly, theexpression he had seen twice on his patient's face, during the journeyto Wellington. 

He had often seen Josh's mother, old Aunt Milly, --"Silly Milly, " thechildren called her, --wandering aimlessly about the street, muttering toherself incoherently. He had felt a certain childish awe at the sight ofone of God's creatures who had lost the light of reason, and he hadalways vaguely understood that she was the victim of human cruelty, though he had dated it farther back into the past. This was his firstknowledge of the real facts of the case. 

He realized, too, for a moment, the continuity of life, how inseparablythe present is woven with the past, how certainly the future will be butthe outcome of the present. He had supposed this old wound healed. Thenegroes 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 theiruncertain future, they gave little thought to the past, --it was a darkstory, which they would willingly forget. He knew the timewornexplanation that the Ku-Klux movement, in the main, was merely anebullition of boyish spirits, begun to amuse young white men by playingupon the fears and superstitions of ignorant negroes. Here, however, wasits tragic side, --the old wound still bleeding, the fruit of onetragedy, the seed of another. He could not approve of Josh's applicationof the Mosaic law of revenge, and yet the incident was not withoutsignificance. Here was a negro who could remember an injury, who couldshape his life to a definite purpose, if not a high or holy one. Whenhis race reached the point where they would resent a wrong, there washope that they might soon attain the stage where they would try, and, ifneed 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 willingto give up his life to a cause. Would he be equally willing, he askedhimself, to die for it? Miller had no prophetic instinct to tell him howsoon he would have the opportunity to answer his own question. But hecould not encourage Josh to carry out this dark and revengeful purpose. Every worthy consideration required him to dissuade his patient fromsuch a desperate course. 

"You had better put away these murderous fancies, Josh, " he saidseriously. "The Bible says that we should 'forgive our enemies, blessthem 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 depreachers say it time an' time ag'in. But it 'pears ter me dat disfergitfulniss 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-baggersever 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 deymight fergit how ter fergive, de w'ite folks gives 'em somethin' newev'y now an' den, ter practice on. A w'ite man kin do w'at he wants tera 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 upan' kills a few, so dat de res' kin keep on fergivin' an' bein' thankfuldat 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' eatdirt, 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 erdat. I never moles's no w'ite man, 'less 'n he moles's me fus'. But w'ende ole 'oman dies, doctuh, an' I gits a good chance at dat w'iteman, --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 enoughto 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'tlet my mind dwell on such things, and you must keep quiet until this armis 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 himseriously and dissuade him from this dangerous design. He had not askedthe name of Josh's enemy, but the look of murderous hate which thedust-begrimed tramp of the railway journey had cast at Captain GeorgeMcBane rendered any such question superfluous. McBane was probablydeserving of any evil fate which might befall him; but such a revengewould do no good, would right no wrong; while every such crime, committed by a colored man, would be imputed to the race, which wasalready staggering under a load of obloquy because, in the eyes of aprejudiced and undiscriminating public, it must answer as a whole forthe offenses of each separate individual. To die in defense of the rightwas 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 theSt. James Hotel. The gentlemen of the party were concerned in aprojected cotton mill, while the ladies were much interested in thestudy of social conditions, and especially in the negro problem. As soonas their desire for information became known, they were takencourteously under the wing of prominent citizens and their wives, whogave them, at elaborate luncheons, the Southern white man's views of thenegro, sighing sentimentally over the disappearance of the good oldnegro of before the war, and gravely deploring the degeneracy of hisdescendants. They enlarged upon the amount of money the Southern whiteshad spent for the education of the negro, and shook their heads over theinadequate results accruing from this unexampled generosity. It was sad, they said, to witness this spectacle of a dying race, unable towithstand the competition of a superior type. The severe reprisals takenby white people for certain crimes committed by negroes were of coursenot the acts of the best people, who deplored them; but still a certaincharity should be extended towards those who in the intense andrighteous anger of the moment should take the law into their own handsand deal out rough but still substantial justice; for no negro was everlynched without incontestable proof of his guilt. In order to beperfectly fair, and give their visitors an opportunity to see both sidesof the question, they accompanied the Northern visitors to a coloredchurch where they might hear a colored preacher, who had won a jocularpopularity throughout the whole country by an oft-repeated sermonintended to demonstrate that the earth was flat like a pancake. Thiscelebrated divine could always draw a white audience, except on the dayswhen his no less distinguished white rival in the field ofsensationalism preached his equally famous sermon to prove that hell wasexactly one half mile, linear measure, from the city limits ofWellington. Whether accidentally or not, the Northern visitors had noopportunity to meet or talk alone with any colored person in the cityexcept the servants at the hotel. When one of the party suggested avisit to the colored mission school, a Southern friend kindlyvolunteered to accompany them. 

The visitors were naturally much impressed by what they learned fromtheir courteous hosts, and felt inclined to sympathize with the Southernpeople, for the negro is not counted as a Southerner, except to fix thebasis of congressional representation. There might of course be thingsto criticise here and there, certain customs for which they did notexactly see the necessity, and which seemed in conflict with the highestideals of liberty but surely these courteous, soft-spoken ladies andgentlemen, entirely familiar with local conditions, who descanted soearnestly and at times pathetically upon the grave problems confrontingthem, must know more about it than people in the distant North, withouttheir means of information. The negroes who waited on them at the hotelseemed happy enough, and the teachers whom they had met at the missionschool had been well-dressed, well-mannered, and apparently content withtheir position in life. Surely a people who made no complaints could notbe very much oppressed. 

In order to give the visitors, ere they left Wellington, a pleasingimpression of Southern customs, and particularly of the joyous, happy-go-lucky disposition of the Southern darky and his entirecontentment with existing conditions, it was decided by the hotelmanagement to treat them, on the last night of their visit, to a littlediversion, 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. Youngmen of leisure spent much of their time around the hotel, and no smallpart of it in the bar. Delamere had been to the club, but had avoidedthe card-room. Time hanging heavy on his hands, he had sought the hotelin the hope that some form of distraction might present itself. 

"Have you heard the latest, Mr. Delamere?" asked the bartender, as hemixed a cocktail for his customer. 

"No, Billy; what is it?"

"There's to be a big cakewalk upstairs to-night. The No'the'n gentlemenan' ladies who are down here to see about the new cotton fact'ry want tostudy 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 floormanager. "

Delamere was struck with a brilliant idea. The more he considered it, the brighter it seemed. Another cocktail imparted additional brilliancyto the conception. He had been trying, after a feeble fashion, to keephis promise to Clara, and was really suffering from lack of excitement. 

He left the bar-room, found the head waiter, held with him a shortconversation, and left in his intelligent and itching palm a piece ofmoney. 

The cakewalk was a great success. The most brilliant performer was alate arrival, who made his appearance just as the performance was aboutto commence. The newcomer was dressed strikingly, the conspicuousfeatures of his attire being a long blue coat with brass buttons and apair of plaid trousers. He was older, too, than the other participants, which made his agility the more remarkable. His partner was a newchambermaid, who had just come to town, and whom the head waiterintroduced to the newcomer upon his arrival. The cake was awarded tothis couple by a unanimous vote. The man presented it to his partnerwith a grandiloquent flourish, and returned thanks in a speech whichsent the Northern visitors into spasms of delight at the quaintness ofthe darky dialect and the darky wit. To cap the climax, the winnerdanced a buck dance with a skill and agility that brought a shower ofcomplimentary silver, which he gathered up and passed to the headwaiter. 

Ellis was off duty for the evening. Not having ventured to put in anappearance at Carteret's since his last rebuff, he found himselfburdened with a superfluity of leisure, from which he essayed to findrelief by dropping into the hotel office at about nine o'clock. He wasinvited up to see the cakewalk, which he rather enjoyed, for there wassome graceful dancing and posturing. But the grotesque contortions ofone participant had struck him as somewhat overdone, even for thecomical type of negro. He recognized the fellow, after a few minutes'scrutiny, as the body-servant of old Mr. Delamere. The man's presentoccupation, or choice of diversion, seemed out of keeping with hisemployment as attendant upon an invalid old gentleman, and strangelyinconsistent with the gravity and decorum which had been so noticeablewhen this agile cakewalker had served as butler at Major Carteret'stable, upon the occasion of the christening dinner. There was a vaguesuggestion of unreality about this performance, too, which Ellis did notattempt to analyze, but which recurred vividly to his memory upon asubsequent occasion. 

Ellis had never pretended to that intimate knowledge of negro thoughtand character by which some of his acquaintances claimed the ability tofathom every motive of a negro's conduct, and predict in advance whatany 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 widelyvarying phases of character; but as to negroes, they were as yet a crudeand undeveloped race, and it was not safe to make predictions concerningthem. No one could tell at what moment the thin veneer of civilizationmight 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, disappearedimmediately after the close of the performance. Any one watching him onhis way home through the quiet streets to old Mr. Delamere's would haveseen 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 seriousframe of mind that he cautiously entered the house and sought his ownroom. 

 * * * * *

The cakewalk had results which to Sandy were very serious. The followingweek he was summoned before the disciplinary committee of his church andcharged 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 themockery of sinners. 

Sandy protested his innocence vehemently, but in vain. The proof wasoverwhelming. He was positively identified by Sister 'Manda Patterson, the hotel cook, who had watched the whole performance from the hotelcorridor for the sole, single, solitary, and only purpose, she averred, of seeing how far human wickedness could be carried by a professingChristian. The whole thing had been shocking and offensive to her, andonly a stern sense of duty had sustained her in looking on, that shemight be qualified to bear witness against the offender. She hadrecognized his face, his clothes, his voice, his walk--there could be noshadow of doubt that it was Brother Sandy. This testimony was confirmedby one of the deacons, whose son, a waiter at the hotel, had also seenSandy at the cakewalk. 

Sandy stoutly insisted that he was at home the whole evening; that hehad not been near the hotel for three months; that he had never in hislife taken part in a cakewalk, and that he did not know how to dance. It was replied that wickedness, like everything else, must have abeginning; that dancing was an art that could be acquired in secret, andcame natural to some people. In the face of positive proof, Sandy'sprotestations were of no avail; he was found guilty, and suspended fromchurch fellowship until he should have repented and made fullconfession. 

Sturdily refusing to confess a fault of which he claimed to be innocent, Sandy remained in contumacy, thereby falling somewhat into disreputeamong the members of his church, the largest in the city. The effect ofa bad reputation being subjective as well as objective, and poor humannature arguing that one may as well have the game as the name, Sandyinsensibly glided into habits of which the church would not haveapproved, though he took care that they should not interfere with hisduties to Mr. Delamere. The consolation thus afforded, however, followedas it was by remorse of conscience, did not compensate him for the lossof standing in the church, which to him was a social club as well as areligious temple. At times, in conversation with young Delamere, hewould lament his hard fate. 

Tom laughed until he cried at the comical idea which Sandy's plaintalways brought up, of half-a-dozen negro preachers sitting in solemnjudgment upon that cakewalk, --it had certainly been a goodcakewalk!--and sending poor Sandy to spiritual Coventry. 

"Cheer up, Sandy, cheer up!" he would say when Sandy seemed mostdepressed. "Go into my room and get yourself a good drink of liquor. Thedevil's church has a bigger congregation than theirs, and we have theconsolation of knowing that when we die, we'll meet all our friends onthe other side. Brace up, Sandy, and be a man, or, if you can't be aman, be as near a man as you can!"

Hoping to revive his drooping spirits, Sandy too often accepted theproffered remedy. 

XIV

THE MAUNDERINGS OF OLD MRS. OCHILTREE

When Mrs. Carteret had fully recovered from the shock attendant upon theaccident at the window, where little Dodie had so narrowly escaped deathor serious injury, she ordered her carriage one afternoon and directedthe coachman to drive her to Mrs. Ochiltree's. 

Mrs. Carteret had discharged her young nurse only the day before, andhad sent for Mammy Jane, who was now recovered from her rheumatism, tostay until she could find another girl. The nurse had been ordered notto take the child to negroes' houses. Yesterday, in driving past the oldhomestead of her husband's family, now occupied by Dr. Miller and hisfamily, Mrs. Carteret had seen her own baby's carriage standing in theyard. 

When the nurse returned home, she was immediately discharged. Sheoffered some sort of explanation, to the effect that her sister workedfor Mrs. Miller, and that some family matter had rendered it necessaryfor her to see her sister. The explanation only aggravated the offense:if Mrs. Carteret could have overlooked the disobedience, she would by nomeans have retained in her employment a servant whose sister worked forthe Miller woman. 

Old Mrs. Ochiltree had within a few months begun to show signs ofbreaking up. She was over seventy years old, and had been of late, byvarious afflictions, confined to the house much of the time. More thanonce within the year, Mrs. Carteret had asked her aunt to come and livewith her; but Mrs. Ochiltree, who would have regarded such a step as anacknowledgment of weakness, preferred her lonely independence. Sheresided in a small, old-fashioned house, standing back in the middle ofa garden on a quiet street. Two old servants made up her modesthousehold. 

This refusal to live with her niece had been lightly borne, for Mrs. Ochiltree was a woman of strong individuality, whose comments upon heracquaintance, present or absent, were marked by a frankness at times noless than startling. This characteristic caused her to be more or lessavoided. Mrs. Ochiltree was aware of this sentiment on the part of heracquaintance, and rather exulted in it. She hated fools. Only fools ranaway from her, and that because they were afraid she would expose theirfolly. If most people were fools, it was no fault of hers, and she wasnot obliged to indulge them by pretending to believe that they knewanything. She had once owned considerable property, but was reticentabout her affairs, and told no one how much she was worth, though it wassupposed that she had considerable ready money, besides her house andsome 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 neverthelessexpected in the family that she would leave him something handsome inher will. 

Mrs. Ochiltree had shared in the general rejoicing upon the advent ofthe Carteret baby. She had been one of his godmothers, and had hinted atcertain intentions held by her concerning him. During Mammy Jane'sadministration she had tried the old nurse's patience more or less byher dictatorial interference. Since her partial confinement to thehouse, she had gone, when her health and the weather would permit, tosee the child, and at other times had insisted that it be sent to her incharge of the nurse at least every other day. 

Mrs. Ochiltree's faculties had shared insensibly in the decline of herhealth. This weakness manifested itself by fits of absent-mindedness, inwhich she would seemingly lose connection with the present, and liveover again, in imagination, the earlier years of her life. She hadburied two husbands, had tried in vain to secure a third, and had neverborne any children. Long ago she had petrified into a character whichnothing under heaven could change, and which, if death is to take us asit finds us, and the future life to keep us as it takes us, promisedanything but eternal felicity to those with whom she might associateafter this life. Tom Delamere had been heard to say, profanely, that ifhis Aunt Polly went to heaven, he would let his mansion in the skies ona long lease, at a low figure. 

When the carriage drove up with Mrs. Carteret, her aunt was seated onthe 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 wakeAunt 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 lookup when William drew near. Her eyes were closed, and she would let herhead sink slowly forward, recovering it now and then with a spasmodicjerk. 

"Colonel Ochiltree, " she muttered, "was shot at the battle of CulpepperCourt House, and left me a widow for the second time. But I would nothave 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 didnot care for weaklings. I could have married John Delamere if I hadwanted him. But pshaw! I could have wound him round"--

"Go round to the kitchen, William, " interrupted Mrs. Carteretimpatiently, "and tell Aunt Dinah to come and wake her up. "

William returned in a few moments with a fat, comfortable looking blackwoman, who curtsied to Mrs. Carteret at the gate, and then going up toher mistress seized her by the shoulder and shook her vigorously. 

"Wake up dere, Mis' Polly, " she screamed, as harshly as her mellow voicewould permit. "Mis' 'Livy wants you ter go drivin' wid 'er!"

"Dinah, " exclaimed the old lady, sitting suddenly upright with a defiantassumption 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 atthe gate?"

"Hyuh dey is, hyuh dey is!" returned Dinah, producing the bonnet andshawl, and assisting Mrs. Ochiltree to put them on. 

Leaning on William's arm, the old lady went slowly down the walk, andwas 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 ofmodern construction, evidently an institution of some kind, surroundedon three sides by a grove of venerable oaks. 

"Hugh Poindexter, " Mrs. Ochiltree exclaimed explosively, after aconsiderable silence, "has been building a new house, in place of theold family mansion burned during the war. "

"It isn't Mr. Poindexter's house, Aunt Polly. That is the new coloredhospital built by the colored doctor. "

"The new colored hospital, indeed, and the colored doctor! Before thewar the negroes were all healthy, and when they got sick we took care ofthem ourselves! Hugh Poindexter has sold the graves of his ancestors toa 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 hadcrumbled 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, andhe has moved away. "

"Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. When I die, if yououtlive me, Olivia, which is not likely, I shall leave my house andland to this child! He is a Carteret, --he would never sell them to anegro. I can't trust Tom Delamere, I'm afraid. "

The carriage had skirted the hill, passing to the rear of the newbuilding. 

"Turn to the right, William, " ordered Mrs. Carteret, addressing thecoachman, "and come back past the other side of the hospital. "

A turn to the right into another road soon brought them to the front ofthe building, which stood slightly back from the street, with nointervening fence or inclosure. A sorrel pony in a light buggy wasfastened to a hitching-post near the entrance. As they drove past, alady came out of the front door and descended the steps, holding by thehand a very pretty child about six years old. 

"Who is that woman, Olivia?" asked Mrs. Ochiltree abruptly, with signsof agitation. 

The lady coming down the steps darted at the approaching carriage a lookwhich lingered involuntarily. 

Mrs. Carteret, perceiving this glance, turned away coldly. 

With a sudden hardening of her own features the other woman lifted thelittle boy into the buggy and drove sharply away in the directionopposite to that taken by Mrs. Carteret's carriage. 

"Who is that woman, Olivia?" repeated Mrs. Ochiltree, with markedemotion. 

"I have not the honor of her acquaintance, " returned Mrs. Carteretsharply. "Drive faster, William. "

"I want to know who that woman is, " persisted Mrs. Ochiltreequerulously. "William, " she cried shrilly, poking the coachman in theback 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 yearser 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 niecewith great excitement. "When your father died, I turned the mother andthe child out into the street. The mother died and went to--the placeprovided for such as she. If I hadn't been just in time, Olivia, theywould 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 meabout it when you get home. "

Mrs. Ochiltree was silent, except for a few incoherent mumblings. Whatshe might say, what distressing family secret she might repeat inWilliam's hearing, should she take another talkative turn, was beyondconjecture. 

Olivia looked anxiously around for something to distract her aunt'sattention, and caught sight of a colored man, dressed in sober gray, whowas coming toward the carriage. 

"There's Mr. Delamere's Sandy!" exclaimed Mrs. Carteret, touching heraunt on the arm. "I wonder how his master is? Sandy, oh, Sandy!"

Sandy approached the carriage, lifting his hat with a slightexaggeration of Chesterfieldian elegance. Sandy, no less than hismaster, was a survival of an interesting type. He had inherited thefeudal deference for his superiors in position, joined to a certainself-respect which saved him from sycophancy. His manners had beenformed upon those of old Mr. Delamere, and were not a bad imitation; forin the man, as in the master, they were the harmonious reflection of amental state. 

"How is Mr. Delamere, Sandy?" asked Mrs. Carteret, acknowledging Sandy'ssalutation with a nod and a smile. 

"He ain't ez peart ez he has be'n, ma'am, " replied Sandy, "but he'sdoin' tol'able well. De doctuh say he's good fer a dozen years yit, efhe'll jes' take good keer of hisse'f an' keep f'm gittin' excited; fersence 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 increation couldn't keep him alive another year. I shall outlive him bytwenty years, though we are not far from the same age. "

"Lawd, ma'am!" exclaimed Sandy, lifting his hands in affectedamazement, --his study of gentle manners had been more thansuperficial, --"whoever would 'a' s'picion' dat you an' Mars John wuznigh 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 wasweakening under the strain of the effort to sit erect that she mightmaintain this illusion of comparative youthfulness. "Bring him to see mesome 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 hecomes back. I'll tell 'im dat you ladies 'quired fer 'im. "

Sandy made another deep bow, and held his hat in his hand until thecarriage had moved away. He had not condescended to notice the coachmanat all, who was one of the young negroes of the new generation; whileSandy regarded himself as belonging to the quality, and seldom stoopedto notice those beneath him. It would not have been becoming in him, either, while conversing with white ladies, to have noticed a coloredservant. Moreover, the coachman was a Baptist, while Sandy was aMethodist, though under a cloud, and considered a Methodist in poorstanding as better than a Baptist of any degree of sanctity. 

"Lawd, Lawd!" chuckled Sandy, after the carriage had departed, "I neverseed nothin' lack de way dat ole lady do keep up her temper! Wid onefoot in de grave, an' de other hov'rin' on de edge, she talks 'bout myole 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 datnight I waited on de table at de christenin' pa'ty, w'en she 'lowed shewuzn' 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 ofconcentric circles which disturb the whole mass in varying degree, soMrs. Ochiltree's enigmatical remark had started in her niece's mind adisturbing train of thought. Had her words, Mrs. Carteret asked herself, any serious meaning, or were they the mere empty babblings of a cloudedintellect?

"William, " she said to the coachman when they reached Mrs. Ochiltree'shouse, "you may tie the horse and help us out. I shall be here a littlewhile. "

William helped the ladies down, assisted Mrs. Ochiltree into the house, and then went round to the kitchen. Dinah was an excellent hand atpotato-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 werealone, "I want to know what you meant by what you said about my fatherand Julia, and this--this child of hers?"

The old woman smiled cunningly, but her expression soon changed to onemore grave. 

"Why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously. "You've got theland, the houses, and the money. You've nothing to complain of. Enjoyyourself, and be thankful!"

"I'm thankful to God, " returned Olivia, "for all his good gifts, --andHe has blessed me abundantly, --but why should I be thankful to _you_ forthe property my father left me?"

"Why should you be thankful to me?" rejoined Mrs. Ochiltree withquerulous indignation. "You'd better ask why _shouldn't_ you bethankful to me. What have I not done for you?"

"Yes, Aunt Polly, I know you've done a great deal. You reared me inyour own house when I had been cast out of my father's; you have been asecond mother to me, and I am very grateful, --you can never say that Ihave 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 brataway. "

"But she had no right to stay, Aunt Polly, after father died. Of courseshe had no moral right before, but it was his house, and he could keepher 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. Hadshe been white, there might have been a difference. When I told her togo, 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 whatI did for you and yours. " Mrs. Ochiltree's eyes assumed anintrospective expression, and her story, as it advanced, became askeenly dramatic as though memory had thrown aside the veil ofintervening years and carried her back directly to the events which shenow described. 

"Your father, " she said, "while living with that woman, left home onemorning the picture of health. Five minutes later he tottered into thehouse 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 knowingall that took place in the household. Old Jane--she was youngerthen--had come with you to my house; but her daughter remained, andthrough her I learned all that went on. 

"I hastened immediately to the house, entered without knocking, andapproached Mr. Merkell's bedroom, which was on the lower floor andopened into the hall. The door was ajar, and as I stood there for amoment I heard your father's voice. 

"'Listen, Julia, ' he was saying. 'I shall not live until the doctorcomes. But I wish you to know, dear Julia!'--he called her 'dearJulia!'--'before I die, that I have kept my promise. You did me onegreat service, Julia, --you saved me from Polly Ochiltree!' Yes, Olivia, that is what he said! 'You have served me faithfully and well, and I oweyou 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, --composeyourself and listen, for this is a more important matter. Take the keysfrom under my pillow, open the desk in the next room, look in the seconddrawer on the right, and you will find an envelope containing threepapers: one of them is yours, one is the paper I promised to make, andthe third is a letter which I wrote last night. As soon as the breathhas 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 untilyou have delivered the package, and then be guided by the advice whichyou receive, --it will come from a friend of mine who will not see youwronged. '

"I slipped away from the door without making my presence known andentered, by a door from the hall, the room adjoining the one where Mr. Merkell lay. A moment later there was a loud scream. Returning quicklyto 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 hadfallen on her knees by the bedside. She had good cause to weep, for mytime had come. 

"'Get up, ' I said. 'You have no right here. You pollute Mr. Merkell'sdead body by your touch. Leave the house immediately, --your day isover!'

"'I will not!' she cried, rising to her feet and facing me withbrazen-faced impudence. 'I have a right to stay, --he has given me theright!'

"'Ha, ha!' I laughed. 'Mr. Merkell is dead, and I am mistress herehenceforth. Go, and go at once, --do you hear?'

"'I hear, but I shall not heed. I can prove my rights! I shall notleave!'

"'Very well, ' I replied, 'we shall see. The law will decide. '

"I left the room, but did not leave the house. On the contrary, Iconcealed myself where I could see what took place in the room adjoiningthe death-chamber. 

"She entered the room a moment later, with her child on one arm and thekeys in the other hand. Placing the child on the floor, she put the keyin 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 theright, 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 theother 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 thanyou 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. Nevershall I forget her look, --never shall I forget that moment; it was thehappiest 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, likeyourself?'

"'There were papers here, ' she cried, 'only a minute since. They aremine, --give them back to me!'

"'Listen, woman, ' I said sternly, 'you are lying--or dreaming. Mybrother-in-law's papers are doubtless in his safe at his office, wherethey 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 papersthat were in the desk will prove it. '

"'Listen, ' I exclaimed, when she had finished, --'listen carefully, andtake heed to what I say. You are a liar. You have no proofs, --therenever were any proofs of what you say, because it never happened, --it isabsurd upon the face of it. Not one person in Wellington would believeit. Why should he marry you? He did not need to! You are merelylying, --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 thatyour story is false. '

"She was hit so hard that she trembled and sank into a chair. But I hadno 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 haveyou on the hip, my lady, and will teach you your place. '

"She struggled to her feet, and stood supporting herself with one handon the chair. I could have killed her, Olivia! She had been my father'sslave; if it had been before the war, I would have had her whipped todeath. 

"'You are a thief, ' I said, 'and of that there _are_ proofs. I havecaught you in the act. The watch in your bosom is my own, the moneybelongs to Mr. Merkell's estate, which belongs to my niece, his daughterOlivia. I saw you steal them. My word is worth yours a hundred timesover, for I am a lady, and you are--what? And now hear me: if ever youbreathe to a living soul one word of this preposterous story, I willcharge you with the theft, and have you sent to the penitentiary. Yourchild will be taken from you, and you shall never see it again. I willgive you now just ten minutes to take your brat and your rags out ofthis house forever. But before you go, put down your plunder there uponthe desk!'

"She laid down the money and the watch, and a few minutes later left thehouse with the child in her arms. 

"And now, Olivia, you know how I saved your estate, and why you shouldbe grateful to me. "

Olivia had listened to her aunt's story with intense interest. Havingperceived the old woman's mood, and fearful lest any interruption mightbreak the flow of her narrative, she had with an effort kept back theone question which had been hovering upon her lips, but which could nowno longer be withheld. 

"What became of the papers, Aunt Polly?"

"Ha, ha!" chuckled Mrs. Ochiltree with a cunning look, "did I not tellyou that she found no papers?"

A change had come over Mrs. Ochiltree's face, marking the reaction fromher burst of energy. Her eyes were half closed, and she was mutteringincoherently. Olivia made some slight effort to arouse her, but in vain, and realizing the futility of any further attempt to extract informationfrom 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 upto Carteret's gate. Three places were taken by Mrs. Carteret, Clara, andthe major, leaving the fourth seat vacant. 

"I've asked Ellis to drive out with us, " said the major, as he took thelines from the colored man who had the trap in charge. "We'll go by theoffice 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 youngman was not only a good journalist, but possessed sufficient clevernessand tact to make him excellent company. The major was fond of argument, but extremely tenacious of his own opinions. Ellis handled the foils ofdiscussion 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 interestin Clara. Herself partial to Tom, she had more than once thought ithardly fair to Delamere, or even to Clara, who was young andimpressionable, to have another young man constantly about the house. True, there had seemed to be no great danger, for Ellis had neither thefamily nor the means to make him a suitable match for the major'ssister; nor had Clara made any secret of her dislike for Ellis, or ofher resentment for his supposed depreciation of Delamere. Mrs. Carteretwas inclined to a more just and reasonable view of Ellis's conduct inthis matter, but nevertheless did not deem it wise to undeceive Clara. Dislike was a stout barrier, which remorse might have broken down. Themajor, absorbed in schemes of empire and dreams of his child's future, had not become cognizant of the affair. His wife, out of friendship forTom, had refrained from mentioning it; while the major, with a delicateregard for Clara's feelings, had said nothing at home in regard to hisinterview 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 anexcellent toll-road, built of oyster shells from the neighboring sound, stopping at intervals to pay toll to the gate-keepers, most of whom werewhite women with tallow complexions and snuff-stained lips, --thetraditional "poor-white. " For part of the way the road was bordered witha growth of scrub oak and pine, interspersed with stretches of clearedland, white with the opening cotton or yellow with ripening corn. To theright, along the distant river-bank, were visible here and there groupsof turpentine pines, though most of this growth had for some years beenexhausted. Twenty years before, Wellington had been the world's greatestshipping port for naval stores. But as the turpentine industry had movedsouthward, leaving a trail of devastated forests in its rear, the cityhad fallen to a poor fifth or sixth place in this trade, relying nowalmost entirely upon cotton for its export business. 

Occasionally our party passed a person, or a group of persons, --mostlynegroes approximating the pure type, for those of lighter color grewnoticeably scarcer as the town was left behind. Now and then one ofthese would salute the party respectfully, while others glanced at themindifferently or turned away. There would have seemed, to a stranger, alack, 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. Atone point the carriage drew near a party of colored folks who werelaughing and jesting among themselves with great glee. Paying noattention to the white people, they continued to laugh and shoutboisterously as the carriage swept by. 

Major Carteret's countenance wore an angry look. 

"The negroes around this town are becoming absolutely insufferable, " heaverred. "They are sadly in need of a lesson in manners. "

Half an hour later they neared another group, who were also makingmerry. As the carriage approached, they became mute and silent as thegrave until the major's party had passed. 

"The negroes are a sullen race, " remarked the major thoughtfully. "Theywill learn their lesson in a rude school, and perhaps much sooner thanthey dream. By the way, " he added, turning to the ladies, "what was thearrangement 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 whichstretched the beach, white and inviting, along the shallow sound. Mrs. Carteret and Clara found seats on the veranda. Having turned the trapover to a hostler, the major joined a group of gentlemen, among whom wasGeneral Belmont, and was soon deep in the discussion of the standingproblem 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 hewould come. It's lonesome here. Mr. Ellis, would you mind looking aboutthe hotel and seeing if there's any one here that we know?"

For Ellis the party was already one too large. He had accepted thisinvitation eagerly, hoping to make friends with Clara during theevening. He had never been able to learn definitely the reason of hercoldness, but had dated it from his meeting with old Mrs. Ochiltree, with which he felt it was obscurely connected. He had noticed Delamere'sscowling look, too, at their last meeting. Clara's injustice, whateverits cause, he felt keenly. To Delamere's scowl he had paid littleattention, --he despised Tom so much that, but for his engagement toClara, he would have held his opinions in utter contempt. 

He had even wished that Clara might make some charge against him, --hewould have preferred that to her attitude of studied indifference, theonly redeeming feature about which was that it _was_ studied, showingthat 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, --themain point is that you should be kept in mind, and made the subject ofstrong emotions. He thought of the story of Hall Caine's, where thewoman, after years of persecution at the hands of an unwelcome suitor, is on the point of yielding, out of sheer irresistible admiration forthe man's strength and persistency, when the lover, unaware of hisvictory and despairing of success, seizes her in his arms and, springinginto the sea, finds a watery grave for both. The analogy of this casewith his own was, of course, not strong. He did not anticipate anytragedy in their relations; but he was glad to be thought of upon almostany 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 noopportunity to clear up, while at the same time his conscience absolvedhim from evil and gave him the compensating glow of martyrdom, it was atleast better than nothing. 

He would, of course, have preferred to be upon a different footing. Ithad been a pleasure to have her speak to him during the drive, --they hadexchanged a few trivial remarks in the general conversation. It was agreater pleasure to have her ask a favor of him, --a pleasure which, inthis instance, was partly offset when he interpreted her request to meanthat he was to look for Tom Delamere. He accepted the situationgracefully, however, and left the ladies alone. 

Knowing Delamere's habits, he first went directly to the bar-room, --theatmosphere would be congenial, even if he were not drinking. Delamerewas not there. Stepping next into the office, he asked the clerk ifyoung Mr. Delamere had been at the hotel. 

"Yes, sir, " returned the man at the desk, "he was here at luncheon, andthen went out fishing in a boat with several other gentlemen. I thinkthey 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 in255 or 256, and let me know at once. "

The bell-boy returned in a moment. 

"Yas, suh, " he reported, with a suppressed grin, "he's in 256, suh. Dedo' was open, an' I seed 'im from de hall, suh. "

"I wish you'd go up and tell him, " said Ellis, "that--What are yougrinning about?" he asked suddenly, noticing the waiter's expression. 

"Nothin', suh, nothin' at all, suh, " responded the negro, lapsing intothe stolidity of a wooden Indian. "What shall I tell Mr. Delamere, suh?"

"Tell him, " resumed Ellis, still watching the boy suspiciously, --"no, I'lltell him myself. "

He ascended the broad stair to the second floor. There was an upperbalcony and a parlor, with a piano for the musically inclined. To reachthese one had to pass along the hall upon which the room mentioned bythe bell-boy opened. Ellis was quite familiar with the hotel. He couldimagine circumstances under which he would not care to speak toDelamere; he would merely pass through the hall and glance into the roomcasually, as any one else might do, and see what the darky downstairsmight 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, wereplaying cards at a small table, near which stood another, decorated withan array of empty bottles and glasses. Sprawling on a lounge, withflushed face and disheveled hair, his collar unfastened, his vestbuttoned awry, lay Tom Delamere, breathing stertorously, in what seemeda drunken sleep. Lest there should be any doubt of the cause of hiscondition, the fingers of his right hand had remained claspedmechanically 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 littleearly for the evening crowd. The clerk says Tom Delamere was here toluncheon, but he hasn't seen him for several hours. "

"He's not a very gallant cavalier, " said Mrs. Carteret severely. "Heought to have been waiting for us. "

Clara was clearly disappointed, and made no effort to conceal herdispleasure, leaving Ellis in doubt as to whether or not he were itsobject. Perhaps she suspected him of not having made a very thoroughsearch. Her next remark might have borne such a construction. 

"Sister Olivia, " she said pettishly, "let's go up to the parlor. I canplay 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 theparlor, or they'll come when you begin to play. "

Clara's expression was not cordial, but she rose as if to go. Ellis wasin a quandary. If she went through the hall, the chances were at leasteven that she would see Delamere. He did not care a rap forDelamere, --if he chose to make a public exhibition of himself, it washis own affair; but to see him would surely spoil Miss Pemberton'sevening, and, in her frame of mind, might lead to the suspicion thatEllis had prearranged the exposure. Even if she should not harbor thisunjust thought, she would not love the witness of her discomfiture. Wehad rather not meet the persons who have seen, even though they nevermention, the skeletons in our closets. Delamere had disposed of himselffor the evening. Ellis would have a fairer field with Delamere out ofsight and unaccounted for, than with Delamere in evidence in his presentcondition. 

"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'drather 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 thebroad staircase ascended. Ellis, whose thoughts did not always respondquickly to a sudden emergency, was puzzling his brain as to how heshould save her from any risk of seeing Delamere. Through the side doorleading from the hall into the office, he saw the bell-boy to whom hehad spoken seated on the bench provided for the servants. 

"Won't you wait for me just a moment, Miss Clara, while I step into theoffice? 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 thepicture 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, andkeep in front of us along the hall. Don't dare to look back. I shallkeep on talking to the lady, so that you can tell by my voice where weare. When you get to room 256, go in and shut the door behind you:pretend that you were called, --ask the gentlemen what they want, --tellany kind of a lie you like, --but keep the door shut until you're surewe'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 MissPemberton paid little attention. She was angry with Delamere, and tookno pains to conceal her feelings. The bell-boy entered room 256 justbefore they reached the door. Ellis had heard loud talking as theyapproached, 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 footstepsand 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 decidedlyperverse mood. Seating herself at the piano, she played brilliantly fora quarter of an hour. Quite a number of couples strolled up to theparlor, but Delamere was not among them. 

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Miss Pemberton, as she let her fingers fall uponthe keys with a discordant crash, after the last note, "I don't see whywe came out here to-night. Let's go back downstairs. "

Ellis felt despondent. He had done his utmost to serve and to pleaseMiss Pemberton, but was not likely, he foresaw, to derive much benefitfrom his opportunity. Delamere was evidently as much or more in herthoughts by reason of his absence than if he had been present. If thedoor should have been opened, and she should see him from the hall upontheir return, Ellis could not help it. He took the side next to thedoor, however, meaning to hurry past the room so that she might notrecognize Delamere. 

Fortunately the door was closed and all quiet within the room. On thestairway they met the bellboy, rubbing his head with one hand andholding a bottle of seltzer upon a tray in the other. The boy was wellenough trained to give no sign of recognition, though Ellis guessed thedestination of the bottle. 

Ellis hardly knew whether to feel pleased or disappointed at the successof his manoeuvres. He had spared Miss Pemberton some mortification, buthe had saved Tom Delamere from merited exposure. Clara ought to know thetruth, for her own sake. 

On the beach, a few rods away, fires were burning, around which severalmerry groups had gathered. The smoke went mostly to one side, but aslight whiff came now and then to where Mrs. Carteret sat awaitingthem. 

"They're roasting oysters, " said Mrs. Carteret. "I wish you'd bring mesome, Mr. Ellis. "

Ellis strolled down to the beach. A large iron plate, with a turned-uprim like a great baking-pan, supported by legs which held it off theground, was set over a fire built upon the sand. This primitive oven washeaped with small oysters in the shell, taken from the neighboringsound, and hauled up to the hotel by a negro whose pony cart stood nearby. A wet coffee-sack of burlaps was spread over the oysters, which, when steamed sufficiently, were opened by a colored man and servedgratis 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 recuperationfrom the effects of drink, had waked from his sleep, and remembering hisengagement, had exerted himself to overcome the ravages of theafternoon's debauch. A dash of cold water braced him up somewhat. Abottle of seltzer and a big cup of strong coffee still furtherstrengthened 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 hisabsence. 

He had been overcome by the heat, he said, while out fishing, and hadbeen 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 friendsbecause he hadn't wished to spoil their evening. 

"That was very considerate of you, Tom, " said Mrs. Carteret dryly, "butyou ought to have let us know. We have been worrying about you verymuch. Clara has found the evening dreadfully dull. "

"Indeed, no, sister Olivia, " said the young lady cheerfully, "I've beenhaving a lovely time. Mr. Ellis and I have been up in the parlor; Iplayed the piano; and we've been eating oysters and having a mostdelightful time. Won't you take me down there to the beach, Mr. Ellis? Iwant 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 sosoon; it might do you serious injury. Stay here with sister Olivia. "

She took Ellis's arm with exaggerated cordiality. Delamere glared afterthem angrily. Ellis did not stop to question her motives, but took thegoods the gods provided. With no very great apparent effort, MissPemberton became quite friendly, and they strolled along the beach, insight of the hotel, for nearly half an hour. As they were coming up sheasked him abruptly, --

"Mr. Ellis, did you know Tom was in the hotel?"

Ellis was looking across the sound, at the lights of a distant steamerwhich 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 histhought. "She was due about five o'clock. "

Miss Pemberton, under cover of the darkness, smiled a fine smile, whichforeboded 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 hadbeen engaged in conversation, for most of the evening, with GeneralBelmont and several other gentlemen. 

"Here comes the general now. Let me see. There are five of us. Thegeneral has offered me a seat in his buggy, and Tom can go withyou-all. "

The general came up and spoke to the ladies. Tom murmured his thanks; itwould enable him to make up a part of the delightful evening he hadmissed. 

When Mrs. Carteret had taken the rear seat, Clara promptly took theplace beside her. Ellis and Delamere sat in front. When Delamere, whohad offered to drive, took the reins, Ellis saw that his hands wereshaking. 

"Give me the lines, " he whispered. "Your nerves are unsteady and theroad 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 whohad been suffering. He wondered if the beggar knew anything about hisillness. Clara had been acting strangely. It would have been just likeEllis to have slandered him. The upstart had no business with Claraanyway. He would cheerfully have strangled Ellis, if he could have doneso 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 andthen to Ellis with reference to some object in or near the road. Occasionally they passed a vehicle in the darkness, sometimes barelyavoiding a collision. Far to the north the sky was lit up with the glowof a forest fire. The breeze from the Sound was deliciously cool. Soonthe last toll-gate was passed and the lights of the town appeared. 

Ellis threw the lines to William, who was waiting, and hastened to helpthe 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, andfeeling somewhat out of sorts as the combined results of his afternoon'sdebauch and the snubbing he had received at Clara's hands, directed themajor's coachman, who had taken charge of the trap upon its arrival, todrive him to the St. James Hotel before returning the horses to thestable. First, however, the coachman left Ellis at his boarding-house, which was near by. The two young men parted with as scant courtesy aswas possible without an open rupture. 

Delamere hoped to find at the hotel some form of distraction to fill inan hour or two before going home. Ill fortune favored him by placing inhis way the burly form of Captain George McBane, who was sitting in anarmchair alone, smoking a midnight cigar, under the hotel balcony. UponDelamere's making known his desire for amusement, the captain proposed asmall game of poker in his own room. 

McBane had been waiting for some such convenient opportunity. We havealready seen that the captain was desirous of social recognition, whichhe had not yet obtained beyond the superficial acquaintance acquired byassociation with men about town. He had determined to assault society inits citadel by seeking membership in the Clarendon Club, of which mostgentlemen of the best families of the city were members. 

The Clarendon Club was a historic institution, and its membership asocial cult, the temple of which was located just off the main street ofthe city, in a dignified old colonial mansion which had housed it forthe nearly one hundred years during which it had maintained itsexistence unbroken. There had grown up around it many traditions andspecial usages. Membership in the Clarendon was the _sine qua non_ ofhigh social standing, and was conditional upon two of threethings, --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 theClarendon's membership, or had failed to see that he fell beneath it, looked about for an intermediary through whom to approach the object ofhis desire. He had already thought of Tom Delamere in this connection, having with him such an acquaintance as one forms around a hotel, andhaving long ago discovered that Delamere was a young man ofsuperficially amiable disposition, vicious instincts, lax principles, and a weak will, and, which was quite as much to the purpose, a memberof the Clarendon Club. Possessing mental characteristics almost entirelyopposite, Delamere and the captain had certain tastes in common, and hadsmoked, drunk, and played cards together more than once. 

Still more to his purpose, McBane had detected Delamere trying to cheathim at cards. He had said nothing about this discovery, but had merelynoted it as something which at some future time might prove useful. Thecaptain had not suffered by Delamere's deviation from the straight lineof honor, for while Tom was as clever with the cards as might beexpected of a young man who had devoted most of his leisure for severalyears to handling them, McBane was past master in their manipulation. During a stormy career he had touched more or less pitch, and hadescaped few sorts of defilement. 

The appearance of Delamere at a late hour, unaccompanied, and wearingupon his countenance an expression in which the captain read aright thecraving for mental and physical excitement, gave him the opportunity forwhich he had been looking. McBane was not the man to lose anopportunity, nor did Delamere require a second invitation. Neither wasit necessary, during the progress of the game, for the captain to pressupon his guest the contents of the decanter which stood upon the tablewithin 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 forMcBane in self-control than in skill. When the young man had lost allhis money, the captain expressed his entire willingness to accept notesof hand, for which he happened to have convenient blanks in hisapartment. 

When Delamere, flushed with excitement and wine, rose from the gamingtable at two o'clock, he was vaguely conscious that he owed McBane aconsiderable sum, but could not have stated how much. His opponent, whowas entirely cool and collected, ran his eye carelessly over the bits ofpaper to which Delamere had attached his signature. "Just one thousanddollars even, " he remarked. 

The announcement of this total had as sobering an effect upon Delamereas though he had been suddenly deluged with a shower of cold water. Fora moment he caught his breath. He had not a dollar in the world withwhich to pay this sum. His only source of income was an allowance fromhis 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 aclever young fellow like you. Meantime, " he added, tossing the notes ofhand carelessly on a bureau, "don't worry about these bits of paper. Such small matters shouldn't cut any figure between friends; but if youare around the hotel to-morrow, I should like to speak to you uponanother subject. "

"Very well, captain, " returned Tom somewhat ungraciously. 

Delamere had been completely beaten with his own weapons. He had trieddesperately to cheat McBane. He knew perfectly well that McBane haddiscovered his efforts and had cheated him in turn, for the captain'splay 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 bluntlyrequested the latter to propose him for membership in the ClarendonClub. 

Delamere was annoyed at this request. His aristocratic gorge rose at thepresumption 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, butnot good enough to be recognized as a social equal. He wouldinstinctively have blackballed McBane had he been proposed by some oneelse; with what grace could he put himself forward as the sponsor forthis impossible social aspirant? Moreover, it was clearly a vulgar, cold-blooded attempt on McBane's part to use his power over him for apersonal advantage. 

"Well, now, Captain McBane, " returned Delamere diplomatically, "I'venever put any one up yet, and it's not regarded as good form for soyoung a member as myself to propose candidates. I'd much rather you'dask some older man. "

"Oh, well, " replied McBane, "just as you say, only I thought you had cutyour eye teeth. "

Delamere was not pleased with McBane's tone. His remark was notacquiescent, though couched in terms of assent. There was a sneeringsavagery 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 fellfrom heaven, or he could win it from some one else. He would not dare goto his grandfather for help. Mr. Delamere did not even know that hisgrandson gambled. He might not have objected, perhaps, to a gentleman'sgame, with moderate stakes, but he would certainly, Tom knew very well, have looked upon a thousand dollars as a preposterous sum to be lost atcards 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 notreasonably able to pay. 

There was still another difficulty. If he had lost the money to agentleman, and it had been his first serious departure from Mr. Delamere's perfectly well understood standard of honor, Tom might haverisked a confession and thrown himself on his grandfather's mercy; buthe owed other sums here and there, which, to his just now much disturbedimagination, loomed up in alarming number and amount. He had recentlyobserved signs of coldness, too, on the part of certain members of theclub. Moreover, like most men with one commanding vice, he was addictedto several subsidiary forms of iniquity, which in case of a scandal weremore than likely to come to light. He was clearly and most disagreeablycaught in the net of his own hypocrisy. His grandfather believed him amodel of integrity, a pattern of honor; he could not afford to have hisgrandfather undeceived. 

He thought of old Mrs. Ochiltree. If she were a liberal soul, she couldgive him a thousand dollars now, when he needed it, instead of makinghim wait until she died, which might not be for ten years or more, for alegacy which was steadily growing less and might be entirely exhaustedif she lived long enough, --some old people were very tenacious of life!She was a careless old woman, too, he reflected, and very foolishly kepther money in the house. Latterly she had been growing weak and childish. Some day she might be robbed, and then his prospective inheritance fromthat source would vanish into thin air!

With regard to this debt to McBane, if he could not pay it, he could atleast gain a long respite by proposing the captain at the club. True, hewould undoubtedly be blackballed, but before this inevitable event hisname must remain posted for several weeks, during which interval McBanewould be conciliatory. On the other hand, to propose McBane would arousesuspicion of his own motives; it might reach his grandfather's ears, andlead to a demand for an explanation, which it would be difficult tomake. Clearly, the better plan would be to temporize with McBane, withthe hope that something might intervene to remove this cursedobligation. 

"Suppose, captain, " he said affably, "we leave the matter open for a fewdays. This is a thing that can't be rushed. I'll feel the pulse of myfriends and yours, and when we get the lay of the land, the affair canbe accomplished much more easily. "

"Well, that's better, " returned McBane, somewhat mollified, --"if you'lldo that. "

"To be sure I will, " replied Tom easily, too much relieved to resent, ifnot too preoccupied to perceive, the implied doubt of his veracity. 

McBane ordered and paid for more drinks, and they parted on amicableterms. 

"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 moraldeterioration where, while principles were of little moment, theexternals 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, astheir acquaintance advanced, as "Delamere. " He had now reached theabbreviated Christian name stage of familiarity. There was no lowerdepth to which Tom could sink, unless McBane should invent a nickname bywhich to address him. He did not like McBane's manner, --it wascharacterized by a veiled insolence which was exceedingly offensive. Hewould go over to the club and try his luck with some honestplayer, --perhaps something might turn up to relieve him from hisembarrassment. 

He put his hand in his pocket mechanically, --and found it empty! In thepresent state of his credit, he could hardly play without money. 

A thought struck him. Leaving the hotel, he hastened home, where hefound Sandy dusting his famous suit of clothes on the back piazza. Mr. Delamere was not at home, having departed for Belleview about twoo'clock, leaving Sandy to follow him in the morning. 

"Hello, Sandy, " exclaimed Tom, with an assumed jocularity which he wasvery far from feeling, "what are you doing with those gorgeousgarments?"

"I'm a-dustin' of 'em, Mistuh Tom, dat's w'at I'm a-doin'. Dere'ssomethin' wrong 'bout dese clo's er mine--I don' never seem ter be ableter 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 datcakewalk business, too, dat I ain' never unde'stood an' don' know howter 'count fer, 'less dere wuz some kin' er dev'lishness goin' on datdon' 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 takeout 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'sa few dollahs put away in my bureau drawer fer a rainy day, --notmuch, suh. "

"I'm a little short this afternoon, Sandy, and need some money rightaway. Grandfather isn't here, so I can't get any from him. Let me takewhat you have for a day or two, Sandy, and I'll return it with goodinterest. "

"Now, Mistuh Tom, " said Sandy seriously, "I don' min' lettin' you takemy money, but I hopes you ain' gwine ter use it fer none er demrakehelly 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'nedout 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, itain't right! an' I only does it fer de sake er de fam'ly honuh, dat MarsJohn sets so much sto' by, an' ter save his feelin's; fer de doctuh sayshe mus'n' git ixcited 'bout nothin', er it mought bring on anotherstroke. "

"That's right, Sandy, " replied Tom approvingly; "but the family honor isas safe in my hands as in grandfather's own, and I'm going to use themoney for an excellent purpose, in fact to relieve a case of genuinedistress; and I'll hand it back to you in a day or two, --perhapsto-morrow. Fetch me the money, Sandy, --that's a good darky!"

"All right, Mistuh Tom, you shill have de money; but I wants ter tellyou, suh, dat in all de yeahs I has wo'ked fer yo' gran'daddy, he hasnever called me a 'darky' ter my face, suh. Co'se I knows dere's w'itefolks 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 befergot enti'ely!"

"There, there, Sandy, " returned Tom in a conciliatory tone, "I beg yourpardon! I've been associating with some Northern white folks at thehotel, and picked up the word from them. You're a high-toned coloredgentleman, Sandy, --the finest one on the footstool. "

Still muttering to himself, Sandy retired to his own room, which was inthe house, so that he might be always near his master. He soon returnedwith a time-stained leather pocket-book and a coarse-knit cotton sock, from which two receptacles he painfully extracted a number of bills andcoins. 

"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 isgreenbacks, --dey'll pass all right, I reckon. "

The good money amounted to about fifty dollars, which Delamere thrusteagerly into his pocket. 

"You won't say anything to grandfather about this, will you, Sandy, " hesaid, as he turned away. 

"No, suh, co'se I won't! Does I ever tell 'im 'bout yo' gwines-on? Ef Idid, " 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 whetherI'll ever see dat money agin er no, do' I 'magine de ole gent'emanwouldn' 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 boydat I b'lieve it'd jes' break his hea't ter fin' out how he's be'ngwine on. Doctuh Price has tol' me not ter let de ole gent'eman gitixcited, er e'se dere's no tellin' w'at mought happen. He's be'n goodter 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 andthere, too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that thegreetings he received were less cordial than those usually exchangedbetween the members of a small and select social club. Finally, whenAugustus, commonly and more appropriately called "Gus, " Davidson cameinto 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 atall screen, which at times occupied various places in the room. Davidson took the seat opposite the fireplace, leaving Delamere with hisback to the screen. 

Delamere staked half of Sandy's money, and lost. He staked the rest, anddetermined to win, because he could not afford to lose. He had justreached out his hand to gather in the stakes, when he was charged withcheating at cards, of which two members, who had quietly entered theroom and posted themselves behind the screen, had secured specificproof. A meeting of the membership committee was hastily summoned, itbeing an hour at which most of them might be found at the club. To avoida scandal, and to save the feelings of a prominent family, Delamere wasgiven an opportunity to resign quietly from the club, on condition thathe paid all his gambling debts within three days, and took an oath neverto play cards again for money. This latter condition was made at thesuggestion of an elderly member, who apparently believed that a man whowould cheat at cards would stick at perjury. 

Delamere acquiesced very promptly. The taking of the oath was easy. Thepayment of some fifteen hundred dollars of debts was a different matter. He went away from the club thoughtfully, and it may be said, in fulljustice to a past which was far from immaculate, that in his presentthoughts he touched a depth of scoundrelism far beyond anything of whichhe had as yet deemed himself capable. When a man of good position, ofwhom much is expected, takes to evil courses, his progress is apt toresemble that of a well-bred woman who has started on the downwardpath, --the pace is all the swifter because of the distance which must betraversed to reach the bottom. Delamere had made rapid headway; havinghitherto played with sin, his servant had now become his master, andheld him in an iron grip. 

XVIII

SANDY SEES HIS OWN HA'NT

Having finished cleaning his clothes, Sandy went out to the kitchen forsupper, after which he found himself with nothing to do. Mr. Delamere'sabsence relieved him from attendance at the house during the evening. Hemight have smoked his pipe tranquilly in the kitchen until bedtime, hadnot the cook intimated, rather pointedly, that she expected othercompany. To a man of Sandy's tact a word was sufficient, and he resignedhimself to seeking companionship elsewhere. 

Under normal circumstances, Sandy would have attended prayer-meeting onthis particular evening of the week; but being still in contumacy, andcherishing what he considered the just resentment of a man falselyaccused, he stifled the inclination which by long habit led him towardthe church, and set out for the house of a friend with whom it occurredto him that he might spend the evening pleasantly. Unfortunately, hisfriend proved to be not at home, so Sandy turned his footsteps towardthe lower part of the town, where the streets were well lighted, and onpleasant evenings quite animated. On the way he met Josh Green, whom hehad known for many years, though their paths did not often cross. In hisloneliness Sandy accepted an invitation to go with Josh and have adrink, --a single drink. When Sandy was going home about eleveno'clock, three sheets in the wind, such was the potent effect of thesingle drink and those which had followed it, he was scared almost intosoberness by a remarkable apparition. As it seemed to Sandy, he sawhimself hurrying along in front of himself toward the house. Possiblythe muddled condition of Sandy's intellect had so affected his judgmentas to vitiate any conclusion he might draw, but Sandy was quite soberenough to perceive that the figure ahead of him wore his best clothesand looked exactly like him, but seemed to be in something more of ahurry, a discrepancy which Sandy at once corrected by quickening his ownpace so as to maintain as nearly as possible an equal distance betweenhimself and his double. The situation was certainly an incomprehensibleone, 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 myown ha'nt; an' whichever one of us is de ha'nt, de yuther must be deadan' don' know it. I don' know what ter make er no sech gwines-on, Idon'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, Sandystood 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 thebad 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'sroom. Sandy tapped softly at the door. 

"Who's there?" came Delamere's voice, in a somewhat startled tone, aftera momentary silence. 

"It's me, suh; Sandy. "

They both spoke softly. It was the rule of the house when Mr. Delamerehad 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 theroom showed any signs of haste or disorder, Sandy was too full of hisown 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 wuzin 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 meananything in particular by this enigmatical inquiry, and if so, what? ButSandy's face clearly indicated a state of mind in which consecutivethought was improbable; and after a brief glance Delamere breathed morefreely. 

"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 anythingcome in de house fer de las' ten minutes?"

"Why, no, Sandy, I haven't heard any one. I came from the club an hourago. I had forgotten my key, and Sally got up and let me in, and thenwent back to bed. I've been sitting here reading ever since. I shouldhave heard any one who came in. "

"Mistuh Tom, " inquired Sandy anxiously, "would you 'low dat I'd be'ndrinkin' too much?"

"No, Sandy, I should say you were sober enough, though of course youmay have had a few drinks. Perhaps you'd like another? I've gotsomething good here. "

"No, suh, Mistuh Tom, no, suh! No mo' liquor fer me, suh, never! Whenliquor kin make a man see his own ha'nt, it's 'bout time fer dat manter quit drinkin', it sho' is! Good-night, Mistuh Tom. "

As Sandy turned to go, Delamere was struck by a sudden and daringthought. The creature of impulse, he acted upon it immediately. 

"By the way, Sandy, " he exclaimed carelessly, "I can pay you back thatmoney you were good enough to lend me this afternoon. I think I'llsleep better if I have the debt off my mind, and I shouldn't wonder ifyou would. You don't mind having it in gold, do you?"

"No, indeed, suh, " replied Sandy. "I ain' seen no gol' fer so long datde 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 interestfor 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 putthe 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'lyname. 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, andburning several articles in the little iron stove which constituted partof the bedroom furniture. 

It is also true that he rose very early, before the household wasstirring. The cook slept in a room off the kitchen, which was in anouthouse in the back yard. She was just stretching herself, preparatoryto getting up, when Tom came to her window and said that he was goingoff fishing, to be gone all day, and that he would not wait forbreakfast. 

XIX

A MIDNIGHT WALK

Ellis left the office of the Morning Chronicle about eleven o'clock thesame evening and set out to walk home. His boarding-house was only ashort distance beyond old Mr. Delamere's residence, and while he mighthave saved time and labor by a slightly shorter route, he generallyselected 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 onone of the front corners; and at any rate he would have the pleasure ofgazing at the outside of the casket that enshrined the jewel of hisheart. It was true that this purely sentimental pleasure was sometimesdashed with bitterness at the thought of his rival; but one in love musttake the bitter with the sweet, and who would say that a spice ofjealousy does not add a certain zest to love? On this particularevening, however, he was in a hopeful mood. At the Clarendon Club, wherehe had gone, a couple of hours before, to verify a certain news item forthe morning paper, he had heard a story about Tom Delamere which, heimagined, would spike that gentleman's guns for all time, so far as MissPemberton was concerned. So grave an affair as cheating at cards couldnever be kept secret, --it was certain to reach her ears; and Ellis wasmorally certain that Clara would never marry a man who had been proveddishonorable. In all probability there would be no great sensationabout the matter. Delamere was too well connected; too many prominentpeople would be involved--even Clara, and the editor himself, of whomDelamere was a distant cousin. The reputation of the club was also to beconsidered. Ellis was not the man to feel a malicious delight in themisfortunes of another, nor was he a pessimist who welcomed scandal anddisgrace with open arms, as confirming a gloomy theory of human life. But, with the best intentions in the world, it was no more than humannature that he should feel a certain elation in the thought that hisrival had been practically disposed of, and the field left clear;especially since this good situation had been brought about merely bythe unmasking of a hypocrite, who had held him at an unfair disadvantagein the race for Clara's favor. 

The night was quiet, except for the faint sound of distant music now andthen, or the mellow laughter of some group of revelers. Ellis met butfew pedestrians, but as he neared old Mr. Delamere's, he saw two menwalking in the same direction as his own, on the opposite side of thestreet. 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 hisway, was anxious to keep the first in sight, without disclosing his ownpresence. This aroused Ellis's curiosity, which was satisfied in somedegree when the man in advance stopped beneath a lamp-post and stood fora moment looking across the street, with his face plainly visible in theyellow circle of light. It was a dark face, and Ellis recognized itinstantly as that of old Mr. Delamere's body servant, whose personalappearance had been very vividly impressed upon Ellis at thechristening 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 followinghim had dodged behind a tree-trunk. When Sandy moved on, Ellis, who hadstopped in turn, saw the man in hiding come out and follow Sandy. Whenthis second man came in range of the light, Ellis wondered that thereshould be two men so much alike. The first of the two had undoubtedlybeen Sandy. Ellis had recognized the peculiar, old-fashioned coat thatSandy had worn upon the two occasions when he had noticed him. Barringthis difference, and the somewhat unsteady gait of the second man, thetwo were as much alike as twin brothers. 

When they had entered Mr. Delamere's house, one after the other, --in thestillness of the night Ellis could perceive that each of them tried tomake as little noise as possible, --Ellis supposed that they wereprobably relatives, both employed as servants, or that some youngernegro, taking Sandy for a model, was trying to pattern himself after hissuperior. Why all this mystery, of course he could not imagine, unlessthe younger man had been out without permission and was trying to avoidthe accusing eye of Sandy. Ellis was vaguely conscious that he had seenthe other negro somewhere, but he could not for the moment placehim, --there were so many negroes, nearly three negroes to one white manin the city of Wellington!

The subject, however, while curious, was not important as compared withthe thoughts of his sweetheart which drove it from his mind. Clara hadbeen kind to him the night before, --whatever her motive, she had beenkind, and could not consistently return to her attitude of coldness. With Delamere hopelessly discredited, Ellis hoped to have at least fairplay, --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 hermistress, she was confronted with a sight that well-nigh blanched herebony cheek and caused her eyes almost to start from her head withhorror. As soon as she could command her trembling limbs sufficiently tomake them carry her, she rushed out of the house and down the street, bareheaded, covering in an incredibly short time the few blocks thatseparated Mrs. Ochiltree's residence from that of her niece. 

She hastened around the house, and finding the back door open and theservants stirring, ran into the house and up the stairs with thefamiliarity of an old servant, not stopping until she reached the doorof 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 littleDodie, 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 narrowescape while listening to the mockingbird. 

"What is it, Dinah?" asked Mrs. Carteret, alarmed at the frightened faceof her aunt's old servitor. 

"O my Lawd, Mis' 'Livy, my Lawd, my Lawd! My legs is trim'lin' so dat Ican't ha'dly hol' my han's stiddy 'nough ter say w'at I got ter say! OLawd have mussy on us po' sinners! W'atever is gwine ter happen in disworl' er sin an' sorrer!"

"What in the world is the matter, Dinah?" demanded Mrs. Carteret, whoseown excitement had increased with the length of this preamble. "Hasanything 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 hercedar chis' broke' open, an' eve'thing scattered roun' de flo'! O myLawd, my Lawd, my Lawd, my Lawd!"

Mrs. Carteret was shocked beyond expression. Perhaps the spectacle ofDinah's unrestrained terror aided her to retain a greater measure ofself-control than she might otherwise have been capable of. Giving thenurse some directions in regard to the child, she hastily descended thestairs, and seizing a hat and jacket from the rack in the hall, ranimmediately with Dinah to the scene of the tragedy. Before the thoughtof this violent death all her aunt's faults faded into insignificance, and only her good qualities were remembered. She had reared Olivia; shehad stood up for the memory of Olivia's mother when others had seemed toforget 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. Heraunt's incomplete disclosures on the day of the drive past the hospitalhad been weighing upon Mrs. Carteret's mind, and she had intended tomake another effort this very day, to get an answer to her questionabout the papers which the woman had claimed were in existence. Supposeher aunt had really found such papers, --papers which would seem to provethe preposterous claim made by her father's mulatto mistress? Supposethat, with the fatuity which generally leads human beings to keepcompromising documents, her aunt had preserved these papers? If theyshould be found there in the house, there might be a scandal, if nothingworse, and this was to be avoided at all hazards. 

Guided by some fortunate instinct, Dinah had as yet informed no one butMrs. Carteret of her discovery. If they could reach the house before themurder became known to any third person, she might be the first tosecure access to the remaining contents of the cedar chest, which wouldbe likely to be held as evidence in case the officers of the lawforestalled her own arrival. 

They found the house wrapped in the silence of death. Mrs. Carteretentered the chamber of the dead woman. Upon the floor, where it hadfallen, lay the body in a pool of blood, the strongly marked countenancescarcely more grim in the rigidity of death than it had been in life. Agaping wound in the head accounted easily for the death. The cedar cheststood open, its strong fastenings having been broken by a steel barwhich still lay beside it. Near it were scattered pieces of old lace, antiquated jewelry, tarnished silverware, --the various mute souvenirs ofthe joys and sorrows of a long and active life. 

Kneeling by the open chest, Mrs. Carteret glanced hurriedly through itscontents. 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 apaper projecting from beneath the edge of a rug which had beencarelessly rumpled, probably by the burglar in his hasty search forplunder. This paper, or sealed envelope as it proved to be, whichevidently contained some inclosure, she seized, and at the sound ofapproaching footsteps thrust hastily into her own bosom. 

The sight of two agitated women rushing through the quiet streets at soearly an hour in the morning had attracted attention and arousedcuriosity, and the story of the murder, having once become known, spreadwith the customary rapidity of bad news. Very soon a policeman, and alittle later a sheriff's officer, arrived at the house and took chargeof the remains to await the arrival of the coroner. 

By nine o'clock a coroner's jury had been summoned, who, after briefdeliberation, returned a verdict of willful murder at the hands of someperson or persons unknown, while engaged in the commission of aburglary. 

No sooner was the verdict announced than the community, or at least thewhite third of it, resolved itself spontaneously into a committee of thewhole to discover the perpetrator of this dastardly crime, which, atthis stage of the affair, seemed merely one of robbery and murder. 

Suspicion was at once directed toward the negroes, as it always is whenan unexplained crime is committed in a Southern community. The suspicionwas not entirely an illogical one. Having been, for generations, trainedup to thriftlessness, theft, and immorality, against which only thirtyyears of very limited opportunity can be offset, during which briefperiod they have been denied in large measure the healthful socialstimulus and sympathy which holds most men in the path of rectitude, colored people might reasonably be expected to commit at least a shareof crime proportionate to their numbers. The population of the town wasat least two thirds colored. The chances were, therefore, in the absenceof evidence, at least two to one that a man of color had committed thecrime. The Southern tendency to charge the negroes with all the crimeand immorality of that region, unjust and exaggerated as the claim maybe, was therefore not without a logical basis to the extent aboveindicated. 

It must not be imagined that any logic was needed, or any reasoningconsciously worked out. The mere suggestion that the crime had beencommitted by a negro was equivalent to proof against any negro thatmight be suspected and could not prove his innocence. A committee ofwhite men was hastily formed. Acting independently of the police force, which was practically ignored as likely to favor the negroes, thiscommittee set to work to discover the murderer. 

The spontaneous activity of the whites was accompanied by a visibleshrinkage of the colored population. This could not be taken as anyindication of guilt, but was merely a recognition of the palpable factthat the American habit of lynching had so whetted the thirst for blackblood that a negro suspected of crime had to face at least thepossibility of a short shrift and a long rope, not to mention moregruesome horrors, without the intervention of judge or jury. Since tohave a black face at such a time was to challenge suspicion, and sincethere was neither the martyr's glory nor the saint's renown in beingkilled for some one else's crime, and very little hope of successfulresistance in case of an attempt at lynching, it was obviously the partof prudence for those thus marked to seek immunity in a temporarydisappearance from public view. 

XXI

THE NECESSITY OF AN EXAMPLE

About ten o'clock on the morning of the discovery of the murder, CaptainMcBane and General Belmont, as though moved by a common impulse, foundthemselves at the office of the Morning Chronicle. Carteret wasexpecting them, though there had been no appointment made. These threeresourceful and energetic minds, representing no organized body, andclothed with no legal authority, had so completely arrogated tothemselves the leadership of white public sentiment as to come togetherinstinctively when an event happened which concerned the public, and, asthis murder presumably did, involved the matter of race. 

"Well, gentlemen, " demanded McBane impatiently, "what are we going to dowith 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, anda 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 foundhim cleaning the clothes he had worn last night, and discovered in hisroom a part of the plunder. He denies it strenuously, but it seems aclear case. "

"There can be no doubt, " said Ellis, who had come into the room behindthe reporter. "I saw the negro last night, at twelve o'clock, going intoMr. 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 tokeep them from stealing is not to give them the chance. A nigger willsteal a cent off a dead man's eye. He has assaulted and murdered a whitewoman, --an example should be made of him. "

Carteret recalled very distinctly the presence of this negro at his ownresidence on the occasion of little Theodore's christening dinner. Heremembered having questioned the prudence of letting a servant know thatMrs. Ochiltree kept money in the house. Mr. Delamere had insistedstrenuously upon the honesty of this particular negro. The whole race, in the major's opinion, was morally undeveloped, and only held withinbounds 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 hadprobably lost in a measure his moral influence over his servant. Left tohis own degraded ancestral instincts, Sandy had begun to deteriorate, and a rapid decline had culminated in this robbery and murder, --and whoknew what other horror? The criminal was a negro, the victim a whitewoman;--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 bedealt with by the ordinary processes of law. It is a murderous and fatalassault upon a woman of our race, --upon our race in the person of itswomanhood, its crown and flower. If such crimes are not punished withswift and terrible directness, the whole white womanhood of the South isin danger. "

"Burn the nigger, " repeated McBane automatically. 

"Neither is this a mere sporadic crime, " Carteret went on. "It issymptomatic; it is the logical and inevitable result of the conditionswhich have prevailed in this town for the past year. It is the laststraw. "

"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 thewhite race, in the person of old Mrs. Ochiltree, committed by the blackrace, in the person of some nigger. It would justify the white people inburning _any_ nigger. The example would be all the more powerful if wegot the wrong one. It would serve notice on the niggers that we shallhold the whole race responsible for the misdeeds of each individual. "

"In ancient Rome, " said the general, "when a master was killed by aslave, all his slaves were put to the sword. "

"We couldn't afford that before the war, " said McBane, "but the niggersdon't belong to anybody now, and there's nothing to prevent our doing aswe 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 waslooking out, --"I do not believe that we need trouble ourselvespersonally about his punishment. I should judge, from the commotion inthe street, that the public will take the matter into its own hands. I, for one, would prefer that any violence, however justifiable, shouldtake 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 stakein this matter than the life of a black scoundrel. Wellington is in thehands of negroes and scalawags. What better time to rescue it?"

"It's a trifle premature, " replied the general. "I should have preferredto have this take place, if it was to happen, say three months hence, onthe 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 anelement of self-importance, resulting in what one might describe as asort of condescending obsequiousness. Though still a porter, he was alsoa hero, and wore his aureole. 

"Jerry, " said the general kindly, "the white people are very muchpleased with the assistance you have given them in apprehending thisscoundrel Campbell. You have rendered a great public service, Jerry, andwe 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 terhappen ter 'im. "

"No doubt he will be punished as he deserves, Jerry, " returned thegeneral, "and we will see that you are suitably rewarded. Go across thestreet and get me three Calhoun cocktails. I seem to have nothing lessthan a two-dollar bill, but you may keep the change, Jerry, --all thechange. "

Jerry was very happy. He had distinguished himself in the public view, for to Jerry, as to the white people themselves, the white people werethe public. He had won the goodwill of the best people, and had alreadybegun to reap a tangible reward. It is true that several strange whitemen looked at him with lowering brows as he crossed the street, whichwas curiously empty of colored people; but he nevertheless went firmlyforward, panoplied in the consciousness of his own rectitude, andserenely confident of the protection of the major and the major'sfriends. 

"Jerry is about the only negro I have seen since nine o'clock, " observedthe general when the porter had gone. "If this were election day, wherewould the negro vote be?"

"In hiding, where most of the negro population is to-day, " answeredMcBane. "It's a pity, if old Mrs. Ochiltree had to go this way, that itcouldn't have been deferred a month or six weeks. " Carteret frownedat this remark, which, coming from McBane, seemed lacking in humanfeeling, as well as in respect to his wife's dead relative. 

"But, " resumed the general, "if this negro is lynched, as he welldeserves to be, it will not be without its effect. We still have inreserve for the election a weapon which this affair will only rendermore effective. What became of the piece in the negro paper?"

"I have it here, " answered Carteret. "I was just about to use it as thetext for an editorial. "

"Save it awhile longer, " responded the general. "This crime itself willgive you text enough for a four-volume work. "

When this conference ended, Carteret immediately put into press an extraedition of the Morning Chronicle, which was soon upon the streets, giving details of the crime, which was characterized as an atrociousassault upon a defenseless old lady, whose age and sex would haveprotected her from harm at the hands of any one but a brute in thelowest human form. This event, the Chronicle suggested, had onlyconfirmed the opinion, which had been of late growing upon the whitepeople, that drastic efforts were necessary to protect the white womenof the South against brutal, lascivious, and murderous assaults at thehands of negro men. It was only another significant example of theresults which might have been foreseen from the application of a falseand pernicious political theory, by which ignorance, clothed in a littlebrief authority, was sought to be exalted over knowledge, vice overvirtue, an inferior and degraded race above the heaven-crownedAnglo-Saxon. If an outraged people, justly infuriated, and impatient ofthe slow processes of the courts, should assert their inherentsovereignty, which the law after all was merely intended to embody, andshould choose, in obedience to the higher law, to set aside, temporarily, the ordinary judicial procedure, it would serve as awarning and an example to the vicious elements of the community, of theswift and terrible punishment which would fall, like the judgment ofGod, 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 caseat the hospital, was roused, about eleven o'clock, from a deep anddreamless sleep. Struggling back into consciousness, he was informed byhis 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. PollyOchiltree was robbed and murdered last night, and Sandy Campbell hasbeen 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 twodifferent persons, a negro and a white man, and had been identifiedlater while entering Mr. Delamere's house, where he lived, and wheredamning proofs of his guilt had been discovered; the most important itemof which was an old-fashioned knit silk purse, recognized as Mrs. Ochiltree's, and several gold pieces of early coinage, of which themurdered woman was known to have a number. Watson brought with him oneof 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 SandyCampbell. Miller took his collar and necktie in his hand and wentdownstairs, where Josh sat waiting. 

"Doctuh, " said Green, "de w'ite folks is talkin' 'bout lynchin' SandyCampbell 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, " returnedMiller, "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' alittle game of kyards an' a little liquor. Den we lef dere an' went upez fur ez de corner er Main an' Vine Streets, where we pa'ted, an' Sandywent 'long to'ds home. Mo'over, dey say he had on check' britches an' ablue coat. When Sandy wuz wid me he had on gray clo's, an' when wesep'rated he wa'n't in no shape ter be changin' his clo's, let 'lonerobbin' 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 doit 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 tellthem Josh's story, and appeal to them to stop this thing until Campbellcan have a hearing?"

"It wouldn't do any good, " said Watson despondently; "their blood isup. It seems that some colored man attacked Mrs. Ochiltree, --and he wasa murderous villain, whoever he may be. To quote Josh would destroy theeffect 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 againsthim. To have been at Sam Taylor's place is against Sandy, too, ratherthan in his favor. No, Josh, the white people would believe that youwere trying to shield Sandy, and you would probably be arrested as anaccomplice. "

"But look a-here, Mr. Watson, --Dr. Miller, is we-all jes' got ter setdown here, widout openin' ou' mouths, an' let dese w'ite folks hang erbu'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'stwo niggers ter one white man in dis town, an' I'm sho' I kin fin' fiftyof '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, --whatthen?"

"There'd be a clash, " declared Watson, "and instead of one dead negrothere'd be fifty. The white people are claiming now that Campbell didn'tstop with robbery and murder. A special edition of the MorningChronicle, just out, suggests a further purpose, and has all the oldshopworn cant about race purity and supremacy and imperative necessity, which always comes to the front whenever it is sought to justify someoutrage on the colored folks. The blood of the whites is up, I tellyou!"

"Is there anything to that suggestion?" asked Miller incredulously. 

"It doesn't matter whether there is or not, " returned Watson. "Merelyto suggest it proves it. 

"Nothing was said about this feature until the paper came out, --and evenits statement is vague and indefinite, --but now the claim is in everymouth. I met only black looks as I came down the street. White men withwhom I have long been on friendly terms passed me without a word. Anegro has been arrested on suspicion, --the entire race is condemned ongeneral principles. "

"The whole thing is profoundly discouraging, " said Miller sadly. "Try aswe may to build up the race in the essentials of good citizenship andwin the good opinion of the best people, some black scoundrel comesalong, and by a single criminal act, committed in the twinkling of aneye, neutralizes the effect of a whole year's work. "

"It's mighty easy neut'alize', er whatever you call it, " said Joshsullenly. "De w'ite folks don' want too good an opinion er deniggers, --ef dey had a good opinion of 'em, dey wouldn' have no excusef er 'busin' an' hangin' an' burnin' 'em. But ef dey can't keep fromdoin' it, let 'em git de right man! Dis way er pickin' up de fus' niggerdey 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 wastingvaluable time, --it's hardly worth while for us to discuss a subject weare all agreed upon. One of our race, accused of certain acts, is aboutto be put to death without judge or jury, ostensibly because he committeda crime, --really because he is a negro, for if he were white he would notbe lynched. It is thus made a race issue, on the one side as well as onthe 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 theneighborhood. White men from all over the state, armed to the teeth, would at the slightest word pour into town on every railroad train, andextras would be run for their benefit. "

"They're already coming in, " said Watson. 

"We might go to the sheriff, " suggested Miller, "and demand that hetelegraph the governor to call out the militia. "

"I spoke to the sheriff an hour ago, " replied Watson. "He has a whiteface and a whiter liver. He does not dare call out the militia toprotect a negro charged with such a brutal crime;--and if he did, themilitia are white men, and who can say that their efforts would not bedirected to keeping the negroes out of the way, in order that the whitedevils might do their worst? The whole machinery of the state is in thehands of white men, elected partly by our votes. When the color line isdrawn, if they choose to stand together with the rest of their raceagainst us, or to remain passive and let the others work their will, weare helpless, --our cause is hopeless. "

"We might call on the general government, " said Miller. "Surely thePresident would intervene. "

"Such a demand would be of no avail, " returned Watson. "The governmentcan only intervene under certain conditions, of which it must beinformed through designated channels. It never sees anything that is notofficially called to its attention. The whole negro population of theSouth might be slaughtered before the necessary red tape could be spunout to inform the President that a state of anarchy prevailed. There'sno hope there. "

"Den w'at we gwine ter do?" demanded Josh indignantly; "jes' set herean' let 'em hang Sandy, er bu'n 'im?"

"God knows!" exclaimed Miller. "The outlook is dark, but we should atleast try to do something. There must be some white men in the town whowould stand for law and order, --there's no possible chance for Sandy toescape hanging by due process of law, if he is guilty. We might at leasttry half a dozen gentlemen. "

"We'd better leave Josh here, " said Watson. "He's too truculent. If hewent on the street he'd make trouble, and if he accompanied us he'd domore harm than good. Wait for us here, Josh, until we 'we seen what wecan 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 officeand found it locked. He is doubtless afraid on his own account, andwould not dream of asserting his authority. I then looked up JudgeEverton, who has always seemed to be fair. My reception was cold. Headmitted that lynching was, as a rule, unjustifiable, but maintainedthat there were exceptions to all rules, --that laws were made, afterall, to express the will of the people in regard to the ordinaryadministration of justice, but that in an emergency the sovereign peoplemight assert itself and take the law into its own hands, --the creaturewas not greater than the creator. He laughed at my suggestion that Sandywas innocent. 'If he is innocent, ' he said, 'then produce the realcriminal. You negroes are standing in your own light when you try toprotect such dastardly scoundrels as this Campbell, who is an enemy ofsociety and not fit to live. I shall not move in the matter. If a negrowants the protection of the law, let him obey the law. ' A wise judge, --asecond Daniel come to judgment! If this were the law, there would be noneed of judges or juries. "

"I called on Dr. Price, " said Miller, "my good friend Dr. Price, whowould rather lie than hurt my feelings. 'Miller, ' he declared, 'this isno affair of mine, or yours. I have too much respect for myself and myprofession to interfere in such a matter, and you will accomplishnothing, and only lessen your own influence, by having anything to say. ''But the man may be innocent, ' I replied; 'there is every reason tobelieve that he is. ' He shook his head pityingly. 'You areself-deceived, Miller; your prejudice has warped your judgment. Theproof is overwhelming that he robbed this old lady, laid violent handsupon her, and left her dead. If he did no more, he has violated thewritten and unwritten law of the Southern States. I could not save himif I would, Miller, and frankly, I would not if I could. If he isinnocent, his people can console themselves with the reflection thatMrs. Ochiltree was also innocent, and balance one crime against theother, the white against the black. Of course I shall take no part inwhatever may be done, --but it is not my affair, nor yours. Take myadvice, Miller, and keep out of it. '

"That is the situation, " added Miller, summing up. "Their friendship forus, a slender stream at the best, dries up entirely when it strikestheir prejudices. There is seemingly not one white man in Wellington whowill speak a word for law, order, decency, or humanity. Those who do notparticipate will stand idly by and see an untried man deliberately andbrutally murdered. Race prejudice is the devil unchained. "

"Well, den, suh, " said Josh, "where does we stan' now? W'at is we gwineter do? I wouldn' min' fightin', fer my time ain't come yit, --I feelsdat 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 Millersuddenly. "Why haven't we thought of him before? Has he been seen?"

"No, " replied Watson gloomily, "and for a good reason, --he is not intown. I came by the house just now, and learned that he went out to hiscountry place yesterday afternoon, to remain a week. Sandy was to havefollowed him out there this morning, --it's a pity he didn't goyesterday. The old gentleman has probably heard nothing about thematter. "

"How about young Delamere?"

"He went away early this morning, down the river, to fish. He'llprobably not hear of it before night, and he's only a boy anyway, andcould 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 candrive out there in an hour and a half at the farthest. I'll go and seeMr. Delamere, --he can do more than any living man, if he is able to doanything at all. There's never been a lynching here, and one good whiteman, if he choose, may stem the flood long enough to give justice achance. 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 untilI return. In the meantime, do all that you can to find out who didcommit this most atrocious murder. "

XXIII

BELLEVIEW

Miller did not reach his destination without interruption. At one pointa considerable stretch of the road was under repair, which made itnecessary for him to travel slowly. His horse cast a shoe, andthreatened to go lame; but in the course of time he arrived at theentrance gate of Belleview, entering which he struck into a privateroad, bordered by massive oaks, whose multitudinous branches, hung withlong streamers of trailing moss, formed for much of the way a thickcanopy above his head. It took him only a few minutes to traverse thequarter of a mile that lay between the entrance gate and the houseitself. 

This old colonial plantation, rich in legendary lore and replete withhistoric distinction, had been in the Delamere family for nearly twohundred years. Along the bank of the river which skirted its domain thefamous pirate Blackbeard had held high carnival, and was reputed to haveburied much treasure, vague traditions of which still lingered among thenegroes and poor-whites of the country roundabout. The beautifulresidence, rising white and stately in a grove of ancient oaks, datedfrom 1750, and was built of brick which had been brought from England. Enlarged and improved from generation to generation, it stood, like abaronial castle, upon a slight eminence from which could be surveyedthe large demesne still belonging to the estate, which had shrunkgreatly from its colonial dimensions. While still embracing severalthousand acres, part forest and part cleared land, it had not of lateyears been profitable; in spite of which Mr. Delamere, with theconservatism of his age and caste, had never been able to make up hismind to part with any considerable portion of it. His grandson, heimagined, could make the estate pay and yet preserve it in itsintegrity. Here, in pleasant weather, surrounded by the scenes which heloved, old Mr. Delamere spent much of the time during his decliningyears. 

Dr. Miller had once passed a day at Belleview, upon Mr. Delamere'sinvitation. For this old-fashioned gentleman, whose ideals not evenslavery had been able to spoil, regarded himself as a trustee for thegreat public, which ought, in his opinion, to take as much pride as hein the contemplation of this historic landmark. In earlier years Mr. Delamere had been a practicing lawyer, and had numbered Miller's fatheramong his clients. He had always been regarded as friendly to thecolored people, and, until age and ill health had driven him from activelife, had taken a lively interest in their advancement since theabolition 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 ofapproval and encouragement which had manifested his kindliness and givenMiller much pleasure. 

It was with the consciousness, therefore, that he was approaching afriend, as well as Sandy's master, that Miller's mind was chieflyoccupied as his tired horse, scenting the end of his efforts, bore himwith a final burst of speed along the last few rods of the journey; forthe urgency of Miller's errand, involving as it did the issues of lifeand death, did not permit him to enjoy the charm of mossy oak or forestreaches, or even to appreciate the noble front of Belleview House whenit at last loomed up before him. 

"Well, William, " said Mr. Delamere, as he gave his hand to Miller fromthe 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 notrising, --I'm none too firm on my legs. Did you see anything of my manSandy back there on the road? He ought to have been here by nineo'clock, and it's now one. Sandy is punctuality itself, and I don't knowhow to account for his delay. "

Clearly there need be no time wasted in preliminaries. Mr. Delamere hadgone directly to the subject in hand. 

"He will not be here to-day, sir, " replied Miller. "I have come to youon his account. "

In a few words Miller stated the situation. 

"Preposterous!" exclaimed the old gentleman, with more vigor than Millerhad supposed him to possess. "Sandy is absolutely incapable of such acrime as robbery, to say nothing of murder; and as for the rest, that isabsurd 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 didnot kill her, --it's simply impossible! Why, _I_ raised that boy! He wasborn on my place. I'd as soon believe such a thing of my own grandsonas of Sandy! No negro raised by a Delamere would ever commit such acrime. I really believe, William, that Sandy has the family honor of theDelameres quite as much at heart as I have. Just tell them I say Sandyis innocent, and it will be all right. "

"I'm afraid, sir, " rejoined Miller, who kept his voice up so that theold gentleman could understand without having it suggested that Millerknew he was hard of hearing, "that you don't quite appreciate thesituation. _I_ believe Sandy innocent; _you_ believe him innocent; butthere are suspicious circumstances which do not explain themselves, andthe white people of the city believe him guilty, and are going to lynchhim 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'sword as quickly as another man's oath. "

"He has no chance to explain, " said Miller. "The case is prejudged. Acrime has been committed. Sandy is charged with it. He is black, andtherefore 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'llbe lynched to-night, without judge, jury, or preacher, unless we canstave the thing off for a day or two. "

"Have you seen my grandson?" asked the old gentleman. "Is he not lookingafter Sandy?"

"No, sir. It seems he went down the river this morning to fish, beforethe murder was discovered; no one knows just where he has gone, or atwhat hour he will return. "

"Well, then, " said Mr. Delamere, rising from his chair with surprisingvigor, "I shall have to go myself. No faithful servant of mine shall behanged for a crime he didn't commit, so long as I have a voice tospeak 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 oldwoman, --she had some detestable traits, and I was always afraid shewanted to marry me, but she was of an excellent family and had many goodpoints, --an old woman of one of the best families, struck down by thehand of a murderer! You must remember, William, that blood is thickerthan water, and that the provocation is extreme, and that a few hotheadsmight easily lose sight of the great principles involved and seekimmediate vengeance, without too much discrimination. But they are goodpeople, William, and when I have spoken, and they have an opportunityfor the sober second thought, they will do nothing rashly, but will waitfor 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. Youcan take the reins, if you will, --I'm rather old to drive, --and my manwill come behind with your buggy. "

In a few minutes they set out along the sandy road. Having two freshhorses, they made better headway than Miller had made coming out, andreached 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 awaythe things that seem to connect him with this atrocious affair; and thatwill 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, whoseemed to be casually gathered near the door, closed up when thecarriage 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 theentrance with the aid of his cane, "I wish to see my servant, SandyCampbell, who is said to be in your custody. "

The sheriff hesitated. Meantime there was some parleying in low tonesamong the crowd outside. No one interfered, however, and in a moment thedoor opened sufficiently to give entrance to the old gentleman, afterwhich it closed quickly and clangorously behind him. 

Feeling no desire to linger in the locality, Miller, having seen hiscompanion enter the jail, drove the carriage round to Mr. Delamere'shouse, and leaving it in charge of a servant with instructions to returnfor his master in a quarter of an hour, hastened to his own home to meetWatson 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, andwhen 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? Iprayed 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 everhappen? You would no more commit such a crime than I would!"

"No, suh, 'deed I wouldn', an' you know I wouldn'! I wouldn' want terbring no disgrace on de fam'ly dat raise' me, ner ter make no troublefer 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; "andnow 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'lltell them all about you, and they will let you go. You won't mindspending 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 winderser de cell, suh. "

"Well, _I_ say, Sandy, that they shall do no such thing! Lynch a manbrought up by a Delamere, for a crime of which he is innocent?Preposterous! I'll speak to the authorities and see that you areproperly protected until this mystery is unraveled. If Tom had beenhere, he would have had you out before now, Sandy. My grandson is agenuine Delamere, is he not, Sandy?"

"Yas, suh, yas, suh, " returned Sandy, with a lack of enthusiasm which hetried to conceal from his master. "An' I s'pose ef he hadn' gonefishin' 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 oldgentleman tremulously, "that have kept me alive so long; but now explainto me everything concerning this distressing matter, and I shall then beable to state your case to better advantage. "

"Well, suh, " returned Sandy, "I mought's well tell de whole tale an' nothol' nothin' back. I wuz kind er lonesome las' night, an' sence I be'ntu'ned outen de chu'ch on account er dat cakewalk I didn' go ter, sohe'p me God! I didn' feel like gwine ter prayer-meetin', so I wentroun' ter see Solomon Williams, an' he wa'n't home, an' den I walk' downstreet an' met Josh Green, an' he ax' me inter Sam Taylor's place, an' Isot roun' dere wid Josh till 'bout 'leven o'clock, w'en I sta'ted backhome. I went straight ter de house, suh, an' went ter bed an' ter sleepwidout sayin' a wo'd ter a single soul excep' Mistuh Tom, who wuzsettin' up readin' a book w'en I come in. I wish I may drap dead in mytracks, 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 thatyou are said to have been found cleaning, and the suspicious articlesthat were found in your room?"

"Dat's w'at beats me, Mars John, " replied Sandy, shaking his headmournfully. "Wen I lef home las' night after supper, my clo's wuz allput erway in de closet in my room, folded up on de she'f ter keep demoths out. Dey wuz my good clo's, --de blue coat dat you wo' ter deweddin' 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 ina fight! Somebody e'se had wo' my clo's, --er e'se dere'd be'n somewitchcraf, 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 mightwell 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 Belleviewwid you; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n Billy, fer he wuz too little ter wearmy clo's; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n Sally, fer she's a 'oman. It's amyst'ry ter me, suh!"

"Have you no enemies? Is there any one in Wellington whom you imaginewould like to do you an injury?"

"Not a livin' soul dat I knows of, suh. I've be'n tu'ned out'n dechu'ch, but I don' know who my enemy is dere, er ef it wuz all amistake, like dis yer jailin' is; but de Debbil is in dis somewhar, MarsJohn, --an' I got my reasons fer sayin' so. "

"What do you mean, Sandy?"

Sandy related his experience of the preceding evening: how he had seenthe apparition preceding him to the house, and how he had questioned Tomupon 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 yourlife, Sandy, and I must be able to trust your word implicitly. You musttell me every circumstance; a very little and seemingly unimportant bitof evidence may sometimes determine the issue of a great lawsuit. Thereis one thing especially, Sandy: where did you get the gold which wasfound in your trunk?"

Sandy's face lit up with hopefulness. 

"Why, Mars John, I kin 'splain dat part easy. Dat wuz money I had lentout, an' I got back f'm--But no, suh, I promise' not ter tell. "

"Circumstances absolve you from your promise, Sandy. Your life is ofmore value to you than any other thing. If you will explain where yougot the gold, and the silk purse that contained it, which is said to beMrs. Ochiltree's, you will be back home before night. "

Old Mr. Delamere's faculties, which had been waning somewhat in sympathywith his health, were stirred to unusual acuteness by his servant'sdanger. He was watching Sandy with all the awakened instincts of thetrial lawyer. He could see clearly enough that, in beginning to accountfor the possession of the gold, Sandy had started off with hisexplanation in all sincerity. At the mention of the silk purse, however, his face had blanched to an ashen gray, and the words had frozen uponhis lips. 

A less discerning observer might have taken these things as signs ofguilt, but not so Mr. Delamere. 

"Well, Sandy, " said his master encouragingly, "go on. You got the goldfrom"--

Sandy remained silent. He had had a great shock, and had taken a greatresolution. 

"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 andtoo 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 wouldbe, --or my grandson, Tom. I wish Tom were here, that he might help meovercome your stubbornness; but you'll not be so foolish, so absurdlyfoolish, Sandy, as to keep silent and risk your life merely to shieldsome one else, when by speaking you might clear up this mystery and berestored at once to liberty. Just tell me where you got the gold, " addedthe old gentleman persuasively. "Come, now, Sandy, that's a goodfellow!"

"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, youbought 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 Idid 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, andtuck me ter wait on you, suh, didn't you?"

"Yes, Sandy, and you have been a good servant and a good friend; buttell me now about this gold, and I'll go and get you out of this, rightaway, for I need you, Sandy, and you'll not be of any use to me shut uphere!"

"Jes' hol' on a minute befo' you go, Mars John; fer ef dem peopleoutside should git holt er me befo' you _does_ git me out er here, I maynever see you no mo', suh, in dis worl'. W'en Mars Billy McLean shot meby mistake, w'ile we wuz out huntin' dat day, who wuz it boun' up mywoun's an' kep' me from bleedin' ter def, an' kyar'ed me two miles onhis own shoulders ter a doctuh?"

"Yes, Sandy, and when black Sally ran away with your young mistress andTom, when Tom was a baby, who stopped the runaway, and saved their livesat the risk of his own?"

"Dat wa'n't nothin', suh; anybody could 'a' done dat, w'at wuz strongernuff 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 wuzyo' 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 arewasting valuable time, Sandy, in these old reminiscences. Let us get backto the present. Tell me about the gold, now, so that I may at once lookafter your safety. It may not even be necessary for you to remain hereall night. "

"Jes' one wo'd mo', Mars John, befo' you go! I know you're gwine ter dode 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 erhere, don' bother yo' min' 'bout it no mo', suh, an' don' git yo'se'fixcited, 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_ lookafter 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' Iain't 'feared ter die--ef I haf ter. I ain' got no wife ner child'n termo'n fer me, an' I'll die knowin' dat I've done my duty ter dem dathi'ed me, an' trusted me, an' had claims on me. Fer I wuz raise' by aDelamere, suh, an' all de ole Delameres wuz gent'emen, an' deirprinciples spread ter de niggers 'round 'em, suh; an' ef I has ter diefer somethin' I didn' do, --I kin die, suh, like a gent'eman! But ez ferdat gol', suh, I ain' gwine ter say one wo'd mo' 'bout it ter nobody indis 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 vaguesense of discomfort over and beyond that occasioned by his servant'sdanger, hurried away upon his errand of mercy. He felt less confident ofthe outcome than when he had entered the jail, but was quite as muchresolved that no effort should be spared to secure protection for Sandyuntil there had been full opportunity for the truth to become known. 

"Take good care of your prisoner, sheriff, " he said sternly, as he wasconducted to the door. "He will not be long in your custody, and I shallsee that you are held strictly accountable for his safety. "

"I'll do what I can, sir, " replied the sheriff in an even tone andseemingly not greatly impressed by this warning. "If the prisoner istaken from me, it will be because the force that comes for him is toostrong for resistance. "

"There should be no force too strong for an honest man in your positionto resist, --whether successfully or not is beyond the question. Theofficer who is intimidated by threats, or by his own fears, is recreantto his duty, and no better than the mob which threatens him. But youwill have no such test, Mr. Wemyss! I shall see to it myself that thereis no violence!"

XXV

THE HONOR OF A FAMILY

Mr. Delamere's coachman, who, in accordance with instructions left byMiller, had brought the carriage around to the jail and was waitinganxiously at the nearest corner, drove up with some trepidation as hesaw his master emerge from the prison. The old gentleman entered thecarriage and gave the order to be driven to the office of the MorningChronicle. According to Jerry, the porter, whom he encountered at thedoor, Carteret was in his office, and Mr. Delamere, with the aid of hisservant, climbed the stairs painfully and found the editor at his desk. 

"Carteret, " exclaimed Mr. Delamere, "what is all this talk aboutlynching my man for murder and robbery and criminal assault? It'sperfectly absurd! The man was raised by me; he has lived in my houseforty years. He has been honest, faithful, and trustworthy. He would nomore be capable of this crime than you would, or my grandson Tom. Sandyhas too much respect for the family to do anything that would reflectdisgrace upon it. "

"My dear Mr. Delamere, " asked Carteret, with an indulgent smile, "howcould a negro possibly reflect discredit upon a white family? I shouldreally like to know. "

"How, sir? A white family raised him. Like all the negroes, he has beenclay 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 createdthese--masterpieces. "

"No; but we thought to overrule God's laws, and we enslaved these peoplefor our greed, and sought to escape the manstealer's curse by laying toour souls the flattering unction that we were making of barbarousnegroes civilized and Christian men. If we did not, if instead of makingthem Christians we have made some of them brutes, we have only ourselvesto blame, and if these prey upon society, it is our just punishment! Butmy negroes, Carteret, were well raised and well behaved. This man isinnocent of this offense, I solemnly affirm, and I want your aid tosecure his safety until a fair trial can be had. "

"On your bare word, sir?" asked Carteret, not at all moved by thisoutburst. 

Old Mr. Delamere trembled with anger, and his withered cheek flusheddarkly, but he restrained his feelings, and answered with an attempt atcalmness:--

"Time was, sir, when the word of a Delamere was held as good as hisbond, and those who questioned it were forced to maintain theirskepticism upon the field of honor. Time was, sir, when the law wasenforced in this state in a manner to command the respect of the world!Our lawyers, our judges, our courts, were a credit to humanity andcivilization. I fear I have outlasted my epoch, --I have lived to hear ofwhite men, the most favored of races, the heirs of civilization, theconservators of liberty, howling like red Indians around a human beingslowly 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 ourcontrol, and with their emancipation ceased our responsibility. Theirinsolence and disregard for law have reached a point where they must besternly rebuked. "

"The law, " retorted Mr. Delamere, "furnishes a sufficient penalty forany crime, however heinous, and our code is by no means lenient. To myold-fashioned notions, death would seem an adequate punishment for anycrime, and torture has been abolished in civilized countries for ahundred 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 intoa mob of primitive savages, dancing in hellish glee around the mangledbody 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 headingoff this mob until Sandy can have a fair hearing and an opportunity toprove his innocence. "

"How can I do that, Mr. Delamere?"

"You are editor of the Morning Chronicle. The Chronicle is the leadingnewspaper of the city. This morning's issue practically suggested themob; the same means will stop it. I will pay the expense of an extraedition, calling off the mob, on the ground that newly discoveredevidence has shown the prisoner's innocence. "

"But where is the evidence?" asked Carteret. 

Again Mr. Delamere flushed and trembled. "My evidence, sir! I say thenegro was morally incapable of the crime. A man of forty-five does notchange his nature over-night. He is no more capable of a disgracefuldeed than my grandson would be!"

Carteret smiled sadly. 

"I am sorry, Mr. Delamere, " he said, "that you should permit yourself tobe so exercised about a worthless scoundrel who has forfeited his rightto live. The proof against him is overwhelming. As to his capability ofcrime, we will apply your own test. You have been kept in the dark toolong, Mr. Delamere, --indeed, we all have, --about others as well as thisnegro. Listen, sir: last night, at the Clarendon Club, Tom Delamere wascaught cheating outrageously at cards. He had been suspected for sometime; a trap was laid for him, and be fell into it. Out of regard foryou and for my family, he has been permitted to resign quietly, with theunderstanding that he first pay off his debts, which are considerable. "

Mr. Delamere's face, which had taken on some color in the excitement ofthe interview, had gradually paled to a chalky white while Carteret wasspeaking. His head sunk forward; already an old man, he seemed to haveaged ten years in but little more than as many seconds. 

"Can this be true?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "Is it--entirelyauthentic?"

"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 minutesafter the affair happened, and learned the facts from one of theparticipants. Tom made no attempt at denial. We have kept the matter outof the other papers, and I would have spared your feelings, --I surelywould not wish to wound them, --but the temptation proved too strong forme, and it seemed the only way to convince you: it was your own test. Ifa gentleman of a distinguished name and an honorable ancestry, with allthe restraining forces of social position surrounding him, to hold himin check, can stoop to dishonor, what is the improbability of anilliterate negro's being at least capable of crime?"

"Enough, sir, " said the old gentleman. "You have proved enough. Mygrandson may be a scoundrel, --I can see, in the light of thisrevelation, how he might be; and he seems not to have denied it. Imaintain, nevertheless, that my man Sandy is innocent of the chargeagainst him. He has denied it, and it has not been proved. Carteret, Iowe that negro my life; he, and his father before him, have served meand 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 notbelieve!"

Carteret felt a twinge of remorse for the pain he had inflicted uponthis fine old man, this ideal gentleman of the ideal past, --the pastwhich he himself so much admired and regretted. He would like to sparehis old friend any further agitation; he was in a state of health wheretoo great excitement might prove fatal. But how could he? The negro wasguilty, 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. Yousay the negro is innocent. Appearances are against him. The only way toclear him is to produce the real criminal, or prove an alibi. If you, orsome other white man of equal standing, could swear that the negro wasin your presence last night at any hour when this crime could have takenplace, it might be barely possible to prevent the lynching for thepresent; and when he is tried, which will probably be not later thannext week, he will have every opportunity to defend himself, with youto 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 ofthe negro, in whom you are entirely deceived. "

"I shall not examine your motives, Carteret, " replied the other, "if youcan bring about what I desire. "

"Whatever is done, " added Carteret, "must be done quickly. It is nowfour o'clock; no one can answer for what may happen after seven. If hecan prove an alibi, there may yet be time to save him. White men mightlynch a negro on suspicion; they would not kill a man who was proven, bythe word of white men, to be entirely innocent. "

"I do not know, " returned Mr. Delamere, shaking his head sadly. "Afterwhat you have told me, it is no longer safe to assume what white menwill or will not do;--what I have learned here has shaken my faith inhumanity. I am going away, but shall return in a short time. Shall Ifind you here?"

"I will await your return, " said Carteret. 

He watched Mr. Delamere pityingly as the old man moved away on the armof the coachman waiting in the hall. He did not believe that Mr. Delamere could prove an alibi for his servant, and without some positiveproof 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 followingthe discovery of the crime, he had given his bit of evidence, and hadshared the universal indignation against the murderer. When publicfeeling took definite shape in the intention to lynch the prisoner, Ellis felt a sudden sense of responsibility growing upon himself. Whenhe learned, an hour later, that it was proposed to burn the negro, hispart in the affair assumed a still graver aspect; for his had been thefinal word to fix the prisoner's guilt. 

Ellis did not believe in lynch law. He had argued against it, more thanonce, in private conversation, and had written several editorialsagainst the practice, while in charge of the Morning Chronicle duringMajor Carteret's absence. A young man, however, and merely representinganother, he had not set up as a reformer, taking rather the view thatthis summary method of punishing crime, with all its possibilities oferror, to say nothing of the resulting disrespect of the law andcontempt for the time-honored methods of establishing guilt, was a meretemporary symptom of the unrest caused by the unsettled relations of thetwo races at the South. There had never before been any special need forany vigorous opposition to lynch law, so far as the community wasconcerned, for there had not been a lynching in Wellington since Ellishad come there, eight years before, from a smaller town, to seek a placefor himself in the world of action. Twenty years before, indeed, therehad been wild doings, during the brief Ku-Klux outbreak, but that wasbefore Ellis's time, --or at least when he was but a child. He had comeof a Quaker family, --the modified Quakers of the South, --and whilesharing in a general way the Southern prejudice against the negro, hisprejudices had been tempered by the peaceful tenets of his father'ssect. His father had been a Whig, and a non-slaveholder; and while hehad gone with the South in the civil war so far as a man of peace couldgo, 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? Hehad seen the accused negro; he had recognized him by his clothes, hiswhiskers, his spectacles, and his walk; but he had also seen anotherman, who resembled Sandy so closely that but for the difference in theirclothes, he was forced to acknowledge, he could not have told themapart. Had he not seen the first man, he would have sworn with evengreater confidence that the second was Sandy. There had been, herecalled, about one of the men--he had not been then nor was he now ableto tell which--something vaguely familiar, and yet seemingly discordantto whichever of the two it was, or, as it seemed to him now, to any manof that race. His mind reverted to the place where he had last seenSandy, and then a sudden wave of illumination swept over him, and filledhim with a thrill of horror. The cakewalk, --the dancing, --thespeech, --they were not Sandy's at all, nor any negro's! It was a whiteman who had stood in the light of the street lamp, so that the casualpasser-by might see and recognize in him old Mr. Delamere's servant. Thescheme was a dastardly one, and worthy of a heart that was somethingworse than weak and vicious. 

Ellis resolved that the negro should not, if he could prevent it, diefor another's crime; but what proof had he himself to offer in supportof his theory? Then again, if he denounced Tom Delamere as the murderer, it would involve, in all probability, the destruction of his own hopeswith regard to Clara. Of course she could not marry Delamere after thedisclosure, --the disgraceful episode at the club would have been enoughto 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 theother hand, would Miss Pemberton ever speak again to the man who hadbeen the instrument of bringing disgrace upon the family? Spies, detectives, police officers, may be useful citizens, but they are rarelypleasant company for other people. We fee the executioner, but we do nottouch his bloody hand. We might feel a certain tragic admiration forBrutus condemning his sons to death, but we would scarcely invite Brutusto dinner after the event. It would harrow our feelings too much. 

Perhaps, thought Ellis, there might be a way out of the dilemma. Itmight be possible to save this innocent negro without, for the timebeing, involving Delamere. He believed that murder will out, but it neednot be through his initiative. He determined to go to the jail andinterview the prisoner, who might give such an account of himself aswould establish his innocence beyond a doubt. If so, Ellis would exerthimself to stem the tide of popular fury. If, as a last resort, hecould save Sandy only by denouncing Delamere, he would do his duty, letit cost him what it might. 

The gravity of his errand was not lessened by what he saw and heard onthe way to the jail. The anger of the people was at a white heat. Awhite woman had been assaulted and murdered by a brutal negro. Neitheradvanced age, nor high social standing, had been able to protect herfrom the ferocity of a black savage. Her sex, which should have been hershield and buckler, had made her an easy mark for the villainy of ablack brute. To take the time to try him would be a criminal waste ofpublic money. To hang him would be too slight a punishment for sodastardly a crime. An example must be made. 

Already the preparations were under way for the impending execution. AT-rail from the railroad yard had been procured, and men were burying itin the square before the jail. Others were bringing chains, and a loadof pine wood was piled in convenient proximity. Some enterprisingindividual had begun the erection of seats from which, for a pecuniaryconsideration, the spectacle might be the more easily and comfortablyviewed. 

Ellis was stopped once or twice by persons of his acquaintance. From onehe learned that the railroads would run excursions from the neighboringtowns in order to bring spectators to the scene; from another that theburning was to take place early in the evening, so that the childrenmight not be kept up beyond their usual bedtime. In one group that hepassed he heard several young men discussing the question of whichportions of the negro's body they would prefer for souvenirs. Ellisshuddered and hastened forward. Whatever was to be done must be donequickly, or it would be too late. He saw that already it would require astrong 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 comingout, after a fruitless interview with Sandy. 

"Mr. Ellis, " said the old gentleman, who seemed greatly agitated, "thisis monstrous!"

"It is indeed, sir!" returned the younger man. "I mean to stop it if Ican. 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, hehad found his servant's silence more eloquent than words. Ellis felt apresentiment that this affair, however it might terminate, would befatal to this fine old man, whom the city could ill spare, in spite ofhis age and infirmities. 

"Mr. Ellis, " asked Mr. Delamere, in a voice which trembled withill-suppressed emotion, "do you know who killed her?"

Ellis felt a surging pity for his old friend; but every step that he hadtaken toward the jail had confirmed and strengthened his own resolutionthat this contemplated crime, which he dimly felt to be far moreatrocious than that of which Sandy was accused, in that it involved awhole community rather than one vicious man, should be stopped at anycost. Deplorable enough had the negro been guilty, it became, in view ofhis certain innocence, an unspeakable horror, which for all time wouldcover the city with infamy. "Mr. Delamere, " he replied, looking theelder 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 foregoneconclusion. 

"I do not wish to say at present, " replied Ellis, with a remorsefulpang, "unless it becomes absolutely necessary, to save the negro's life. Accusations are dangerous, --as this case proves, --unless the proof, becertain. "

For a moment it seemed as though Mr. Delamere would collapse upon thespot. Rallying almost instantly, however, he took the arm which Ellisinvoluntarily offered, and said with an effort:--

"Mr. Ellis, you are a gentleman whom it is an honor to know. If you havetime, I wish you would go with me to my house, --I can hardly trustmyself alone, --and thence to the Chronicle office. This thing shall bestopped, and you will help me stop it. "

It required but a few minutes to cover the half mile that lay betweenthe prison and Mr. Delamere's residence. 

XXVII

THE VAGARIES OF THE HIGHER LAW

Mr. Delamere went immediately to his grandson's room, which he enteredalone, closing and locking the door behind him. He had requested Ellisto 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 tolook thoroughly. Finding one of the drawers locked, he tried it with akey of his own, and being unable to unlock it, took a poker from besidethe stove and broke it ruthlessly open. 

The contents served to confirm what he had heard concerning hisgrandson's character. Thrown together in disorderly confusion werebottles of wine and whiskey; soiled packs of cards; a dice-box withdice; a box of poker chips, several revolvers, and a number ofphotographs and paper-covered books at which the old gentleman merelyglanced to ascertain their nature. 

So far, while his suspicion had been strengthened, he had found nothingto confirm it. He searched the room more carefully, and found, in thewood-box by the small heating-stove which stood in the room, a torn andcrumpled bit of paper. Stooping to pick this up, his eye caught a gleamof something yellow beneath the bureau, which lay directly in his lineof vision. 

First he smoothed out the paper. It was apparently the lower half of alabel, or part of the cover of a small box, torn diagonally from cornerto corner. From the business card at the bottom, which gave the name, ofa firm of manufacturers of theatrical supplies in a Northern city, andfrom the letters remaining upon the upper and narrower half, the bit ofpaper 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 fromunder the bureau the yellow object which, had attracted his attention. It was a five-dollar gold piece of a date back toward the beginning ofthe century. 

To make assurance doubly sure, Mr. Delamere summoned the cook from thekitchen in the back yard. In answer to her master's questions, Sallyaverred that Mr. Tom had got up very early, had knocked at herwindow, --she slept in a room off the kitchen in the yard, --and had toldher that she need not bother about breakfast for him, as he had had acold bite from the pantry; that he was going hunting and fishing, andwould be gone all day. According to Sally, Mr. Tom had come in about teno'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 verytired and was going, immediately to bed. 

Mr. Delamere seemed perplexed; the crime had been committed later in theevening 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 roomfifteen er twenty minutes after he come in fer ter fin' out w'at hewanted 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 goodsleep, 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 heshould ever eat again, but he would not betray his feelings to aservant. In a few minutes he was driving rapidly with Ellis toward theoffice of the Morning Chronicle. Ellis could see that Mr. Delamere haddiscovered something of tragic import. Neither spoke. Ellis gave all hisattention to the horses, and Mr. Delamere remained wrapped in his ownsombre reflections. 

When they reached the office, they were informed by Jerry that MajorCarteret was engaged with General Belmont and Captain McBane. Mr. Delamere knocked peremptorily at the door of the inner office, which wasopened 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 withinthe room. "I'll be back in a moment--don't go away. "

Ellis had left the room, closing the door behind him. Mr. Delamere andCarteret were quite alone. 

"Carteret, " declared the old gentleman, "this murder must not takeplace. "

"'Murder' is a hard word, " replied the editor, frowning slightly. 

"It is the right word, " rejoined Mr. Delamere, decidedly. "It would be afoul and most unnatural murder, for Sandy did not kill Mrs. Ochiltree. "

Carteret with difficulty restrained a smile of pity. His old friend wasvery much excited, as the tremor in his voice gave proof. The criminalwas his trusted servant, who had proved unworthy of confidence. No onecould question Mr. Delamere's motives; but he was old, his judgment wasno longer to be relied upon. It was a great pity that he should soexcite and overstrain himself about a worthless negro, who had forfeitedhis life for a dastardly crime. Mr. Delamere had had two paralyticstrokes, and a third might prove fatal. He must be dealt with gently. 

"Mr. Delamere, " he said, with patient tolerance, "I think you aredeceived. There is but one sure way to stop this execution. If yourservant 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, "--thewords came with a note of anguish, as though torn from his veryheart, --"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 wasblack!"

"All cats are gray in the dark, Carteret; and, moreover, nothing iseasier than for a white man to black his face. God alone knows how manycrimes have been done in this guise! Tom Delamere, to get the money topay his gambling debts, committed this foul murder, and then tried tofasten it upon as honest and faithful a soul as ever trod the earth. "

Carteret, though at first overwhelmed by this announcement, perceivedwith quick intuition that it might easily be true. It was but a stepfrom fraud to crime, and in Delamere's need of money there lay apalpable motive for robbery, --the murder may have been an afterthought. Delamere knew as much about the cedar chest as the negro could haveknown, 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 leftBelleview a couple of hours before, and as he proceeded, step by step, every word carried conviction to Carteret. Tom Delamere's skill as amimic and a negro impersonator was well known; he had himself laughed atmore than one of his performances. There had been a powerful motive, andMr. Delamere's discoveries had made clear the means. Tom's unusualdeparture, before breakfast, on a fishing expedition was a suspiciouscircumstance. There was a certain devilish ingenuity about the affairwhich he would hardly have expected of Tom Delamere, but for which thereason was clear enough. One might have thought that Tom would have beensatisfied with merely blacking his face, and leaving to chance theidentification of the negro who might be apprehended. He would hardlyhave implicated, out of pure malignity, his grandfather's old servant, who had been his own care-taker for many years. Here, however, Carteretcould see where Tom's own desperate position operated to furnish aprobable motive for the crime. The surest way to head off suspicion fromhimself was to direct it strongly toward some particular person, andthis he had been able to do conclusively by his access to Sandy'sclothes, his skill in making up to resemble him, and by the episode ofthe silk purse. By placing himself beyond reach during the next day, hewould not be called upon to corroborate or deny any inculpatingstatements which Sandy might make, and in the very probable case thatthe crime should be summarily avenged, any such statements on Sandy'spart would be regarded as mere desperate subterfuges of the murderer tosave his own life. It was a bad affair. 

"The case seems clear, " said Carteret reluctantly but conclusively. "Andnow, what shall we do about it?"

"I want you to print a handbill, " said Mr. Delamere, "and circulate itthrough the town, stating that Sandy Campbell is innocent and TomDelamere guilty of this crime. If this is not done, I will go myself anddeclare it to all who will listen, and I will publicly disown thevillain who is no more grandson of mine. There is no deeper sink ofiniquity into which he could fall. "

Carteret's thoughts were chasing one another tumultuously. There couldbe no doubt that the negro was innocent, from the present aspect ofaffairs, and he must not be lynched; but in what sort of position wouldthe white people be placed, if Mr. Delamere carried out his Spartanpurpose of making the true facts known? The white people of the city hadraised the issue of their own superior morality, and had themselves madethis crime a race question. The success of the impending "revolution, "for which he and his _confrères_ had labored so long, depended in largemeasure upon the maintenance of their race prestige, which would beinjured in the eyes of the world by such a fiasco. While they might yetwin by sheer force, their cause would suffer in the court of morals, where they might stand convicted as pirates, instead of being applaudedas patriots. Even the negroes would have the laugh on them, --the peoplewhom they hoped to make approve and justify their own despoilment. To belaughed at by the negroes was a calamity only less terrible than failureor death. 

Such an outcome of an event which had already been heralded to the fourcorners of the earth would throw a cloud of suspicion upon the storiesof outrage which had gone up from the South for so many years, and haddone so much to win the sympathy of the North for the white South and toalienate it from the colored people. The reputation of the race wasthreatened. They must not lynch the negro, and yet, for the credit ofthe town, its aristocracy, and the race, the truth of this ghastly storymust not see the light, --at least not yet. 

"Mr. Delamere, " he exclaimed, "I am shocked and humiliated. The negromust be saved, of course, but--consider the family honor. "

"Tom is no longer a member of my family. I disown him. He has coveredthe family name--my name, sir--with infamy. We have no longer a familyhonor. I wish never to hear his name spoken again!"

For several minutes Carteret argued with his old friend. Then he wentinto the other room and consulted with General Belmont. As a result ofthese conferences, and of certain urgent messages sent out, within halfan hour thirty or forty of the leading citizens of Wellington weregathered in the Morning Chronicle office. Several other curious persons, observing that there was something in the wind, and supposing correctlythat it referred to the projected event of the evening, crowded in withthose who had been invited. 

Carteret was in another room, still arguing with Mr. Delamere. "It's amere formality, sir, " he was saying suavely, "accompanied by a mentalreservation. We know the facts; but this must be done to justify us, inthe eyes of the mob, in calling them off before they accomplish theirpurpose. "

"Carteret, " said the old man, in a voice eloquent of the strugglethrough which he had passed, "I would not perjure myself to prolong myown miserable existence another day, but God will forgive a sincommitted to save another's life. Upon your head be it, Carteret, andnot on mine!"

"Gentlemen, " said Carteret, entering with Mr. Delamere the room wherethe men were gathered, and raising his hand for silence, "the people ofWellington were on the point of wreaking vengeance upon a negro who wassupposed to have been guilty of a terrible crime. The white men of thiscity, impelled by the highest and holiest sentiments, were about to takesteps to defend their hearthstones and maintain the purity andascendency of their race. Your purpose sprung from hearts wounded intheir 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 theguilty, would not permit you to slay an innocent man. Even a negro, aslong as he behaves himself and keeps in his place, is entitled to theprotection of the law. We may be stern and unbending in the punishmentof crime, as befits our masterful race, but we hold the scales ofjustice with even and impartial hand. "

"'Rah f' 'mpa'tial ban'!" cried the tipsy sailor, who was immediatelyejected with slight ceremony. 

"We have discovered, beyond a doubt, that the negro Sandy Campbell, nowin custody, did not commit this robbery and murder, but that it wasperpetrated by some unknown man, who has fled from the city. Ourvenerable and distinguished fellow townsman, Mr. Delamere, in whoseemployment this Campbell has been for many years, will vouch for hischaracter, and states, furthermore, that Campbell was with him all lastnight, covering any hour at which this crime could have been committed. "

"If Mr. Delamere will swear to that, " said some one in the crowd, "thenegro should not be lynched. "

There were murmurs of dissent. The preparations had all been made. Therewould be great disappointment if the lynching did not occur. 

"Let Mr. Delamere swear, if he wants to save the nigger, " came againfrom the crowd. 

"Certainly, " assented Carteret. "Mr. Delamere can have no possibleobjection to taking the oath. Is there a notary public present, or ajustice 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. "Withyour permission, I will formulate the oath, and Mr. Delamere may repeatit after me, if he will. I solemnly swear, "--

"I solemnly swear, "--

Mr. Delamere's voice might have come from the tomb, so hollow andunnatural 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 ofeight and two o'clock. "

Mr. Delamere repeated this statement in a firm voice; but to Ellis, whowas in the secret, his words fell upon the ear like clods dropping uponthe coffin in an open grave. 

"I wish to add, " said General Belmont, stepping forward, "that it is notour intention to interfere, by anything which may be done at thismeeting, with the orderly process of the law, or to advise theprisoner's immediate release. The prisoner will remain in custody, Mr. Delamere, Major Carteret, and I guaranteeing that he will be provedentirely 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 thelynching had been given up. Carteret immediately wrote and had struckoff a handbill giving a brief statement of the proceedings, and sent outa dozen boys to distribute copies among the people in the streets. Thatno precaution might be omitted, a call was issued to the WellingtonGrays, the crack independent military company of the city, who in anincredibly short time were on guard at the jail. Thus a slight changein the point of view had demonstrated the entire ability of the leadingcitizens to maintain the dignified and orderly processes of the lawwhenever they saw fit to do so. 

 * * * * *

The night passed without disorder, beyond the somewhat rough handling oftwo or three careless negroes that came in the way of small parties ofthe disappointed who had sought alcoholic consolation. 

At ten o'clock the next morning, a preliminary hearing of the chargeagainst Campbell was had before a magistrate. Mr. Delamere, perceptiblyolder and more wizened than he had seemed the day before, and leaningheavily on the arm of a servant, repeated his statement of the eveningbefore. Only one or two witnesses were called, among whom was Mr. Ellis, who swore positively that in his opinion the prisoner was not the manwhom he had seen and at first supposed to be Campbell. The mostsensational piece of testimony was that of Dr. Price, who had examinedthe body, and who swore that the wound in the head was not necessarilyfatal, and might have been due to a fall, --that she had more than likelydied of shock attendant upon the robbery, she being of advanced age andfeeble health. There was no evidence, he said, of any other personalviolence. 

Sandy was not even bound over to the grand jury, but was discharged uponthe ground that there was not sufficient evidence upon which to holdhim. 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 asatisfaction almost as great as, though less exciting than, thatattendant upon taking life. We speak of the mysteries of inanimatenature. The workings of the human heart are the profoundest mystery ofthe universe. One moment they make us despair of our kind, and the nextwe see in them the reflection of the divine image. Sandy, having thusescaped from the Mr. Hyde of the mob, now received the benediction ofits Dr. Jekyll. Being no cynical philosopher, and realizing how nearlythe jaws of death had closed upon him, he was profoundly grateful forhis escape, and felt not the slightest desire to investigate orcriticise any man's motives. 

With the testimony of Dr. Price, the worst feature of the affair came toan end. The murder eliminated or rendered doubtful, the crime became amere vulgar robbery, the extent of which no one could estimate, since noliving soul knew how much money Mrs. Ochiltree had had in the cedarchest. The absurdity of the remaining charge became more fully apparentin the light of the reaction from the excitement of the day before. 

Nothing further was ever done about the case; but though the crime wentunpunished, it carried evil in its train. As we have seen, the chargeagainst Campbell had been made against the whole colored race. All overthe United States the Associated Press had flashed the report of anotherdastardly outrage by a burly black brute, --all black brutes it seems areburly, --and of the impending lynching with its prospective horrors. Thisnews, being highly sensational in its character, had been displayed inlarge black type on the front pages of the daily papers. The dispatchthat followed, to the effect that the accused had been found innocentand the lynching frustrated, received slight attention, if any, in afine-print paragraph on an inside page. The facts of the case never cameout at all. The family honor of the Delameres was preserved, and theprestige of the white race in Wellington was not seriously impaired. 

 * * * * *

Upon leaving the preliminary hearing, old Mr. Delamere had requestedGeneral Belmont to call at his house during the day upon professionalbusiness. This the general did in the course of the afternoon. 

"Belmont, " said Mr. Delamere, "I wish to make my will. I should havedrawn it with my own hand; but you know my motives, and can testify tomy soundness of mind and memory. "

He thereupon dictated a will, by the terms of which he left to hisservant, Sandy Campbell, three thousand dollars, as a mark of thetestator's appreciation of services rendered and sufferings endured bySandy on behalf of his master. After some minor dispositions, the wholeremainder of the estate was devised to Dr. William Miller, in trust forthe uses of his hospital and training-school for nurses, on conditionthat the institution be incorporated and placed under the management ofcompetent trustees. Tom Delamere was not mentioned in the will. 

"There, Belmont, " he said, "that load is off my mind. Now, if you willcall in some witnesses, --most of my people can write, --I shall feelentirely 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 asto its contents, beyond the statement that they were witnessing theirmaster's will. "I wish to leave that with you for safe keeping, Belmont, " said Mr. Delamere, after the witnesses had retired. "Lock itup in your safe until I die, which will not be very long, since I haveno further desire to live. "

An hour later Mr. Delamere suffered a third paralytic stroke, from whichhe died two days afterwards, without having in the meantime recoveredthe power of speech. 

The will was never produced. The servants stated, and General Belmontadmitted, that Mr. Delamere had made a will a few days before his death;but since it was not discoverable, it seemed probable that the testatorhad destroyed it. This was all the more likely, the general was inclinedto think, because the will had been of a most unusual character. Whatthe contents of the will were, he of course did not state, it havingbeen made under the seal of professional secrecy. 

This suppression was justified by the usual race argument: Miller'shospital was already well established, and, like most negroinstitutions, could no doubt rely upon Northern philanthropy for anyfurther support it might need. Mr. Delamere's property belonged of rightto the white race, and by the higher law should remain in the possessionof white people. Loyalty to one's race was a more sacred principle thandeference to a weak old man's whims. 

Having reached this conclusion, General Belmont's first impulse was todestroy the will; on second thoughts he locked it carefully away in hissafe. He would hold it awhile. It might some time be advisable to talkthe matter over with young Delamere, who was of a fickle disposition andmight wish to change his legal adviser. 

XXVIII

IN SEASON AND OUT

Wellington soon resumed its wonted calm, and in a few weeks the intendedlynching was only a memory. The robbery and assault, however, stillremained a mystery to all but a chosen few. The affair had been droppedas absolutely as though it had never occurred. No colored man everlearned the reason of this sudden change of front, and Sandy Campbell'sloyalty to his old employer's memory kept him silent. Tom Delamere didnot offer to retain Sandy in his service, though he presented him withmost of the old gentleman's wardrobe. It is only justice to Tom to statethat up to this time he had not been informed of the contents of hisgrandfather's latest will. Major Carteret gave Sandy employment asbutler, thus making a sort of vicarious atonement, on the part of thewhite race, of which the major felt himself in a way the embodiment, forthe risk to which Sandy had been subjected. 

Shortly after these events Sandy was restored to the bosom of thechurch, and, enfolded by its sheltering arms, was no longer tempted tostray from the path of rectitude, but became even a more rigid Methodistthan 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 neverdared presume upon their former relations. Indeed, the socialatmosphere of Wellington remained so frigid toward Delamere that he lefttown, and did not return for several months. 

Ellis was aware that Delamere had been thrown over, but a certaindelicacy restrained him from following up immediately the advantagewhich the absence of his former rival gave him. It seemed to him, withthe quixotry of a clean, pure mind, that Clara would pass through aperiod of mourning for her lost illusion, and that it would beindelicate, for the time being, to approach her with a lover'sattentions. The work of the office had been unusually heavy of late. Themajor, deeply absorbed in politics, left the detail work of the paper toEllis. Into the intimate counsels of the revolutionary committee Ellishad not been admitted, nor would he have desired to be. He knew, ofcourse, in a general way, the results that it was sought to achieve; andwhile he did not see their necessity, he deferred to the views of oldermen, and was satisfied to remain in ignorance of anything which he mightdisapprove. Moreover, his own personal affairs occupied his mind to anextent that made politics or any other subject a matter of minorimportance. 

As for Dr. Miller, he never learned of Mr. Delamere's good intentionstoward his institution, but regretted the old gentleman's death as theloss of a sincere friend and well-wisher of his race in their unequalstruggle. 

Despite the untiring zeal of Carteret and his associates, the campaignfor the restriction of the suffrage, which was to form the basis of apermanent white supremacy, had seemed to languish for a while after theOchiltree affair. The lull, however, was only temporary, and moreapparent than real, for the forces adverse to the negro were merelygathering strength for a more vigorous assault. While little was said inWellington, public sentiment all over the country became every day morefavorable to the views of the conspirators. The nation was rushingforward with giant strides toward colossal wealth and world-dominion, before the exigencies of which mere abstract ethical theories must notbe permitted to stand. The same argument that justified the conquest ofan inferior nation could not be denied to those who sought thesuppression of an inferior race. In the South, an obscure jealousy ofthe negro's progress, an obscure fear of the very equality socontemptuously denied, furnished a rich soil for successful agitation. Statistics of crime, ingeniously manipulated, were made to present afearful showing against the negro. Vital statistics were made to provethat he had degenerated from an imaginary standard of physicalexcellence which had existed under the benign influence of slavery. Constant lynchings emphasized his impotence, and bred everywhere agrowing contempt for his rights. 

At the North, a new Pharaoh had risen, who knew not Israel, --a newgeneration, who knew little of the fierce passions which had playedaround the negro in a past epoch, and derived their opinions of him fromthe "coon song" and the police reports. Those of his old friends whosurvived were disappointed that he had not flown with clipped wings;that he had not in one generation of limited opportunity attained thelevel of the whites. The whole race question seemed to have reached asort 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 negroshould exercise the franchise. The pessimist gave him up in despair;while the optimist, smilingly confident that everything would come outall right in the end, also turned aside and went his buoyant way to morepleasing themes. 

For a time there were white men in the state who opposed any reactionarystep unless it were of general application. They were conscientious men, who had learned the ten commandments and wished to do right; but thisclass was a small minority, and their objections were soon silenced bythe all-powerful race argument. Selfishness is the most constant ofhuman motives. Patriotism, humanity, or the love of God may lead tosporadic 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 upfresh wrongs for other centuries to sweep away. The state was at themercy of venal and self-seeking politicians, bent upon regaining theirascendency at any cost, stultifying their own minds by vague sophistriesand high-sounding phrases, which deceived none but those who wished tobe deceived, and these but imperfectly; and dulling the publicconscience by a loud clamor in which the calm voice of truth was for themoment silenced. So the cause went on. 

Carteret, as spokesman of the campaign, and sincerest of all itsleaders, performed prodigies of labor. The Morning Chronicle proclaimed, in season and out, the doctrine of "White Supremacy. " Leaving the paperin charge of Ellis, the major made a tour of the state, rousing thewhite people of the better class to an appreciation of the terribledanger which confronted them in the possibility that a few negroes mighthold a few offices or dictate the terms upon which white men should fillthem. Difficulties were explained away. The provisions of the FederalConstitution, it was maintained, must yield to the "higher law, " and ifthe Constitution could neither be altered nor bent to this end, meansmust be found to circumvent it. 

The device finally hit upon for disfranchising the colored people inthis particular state was the notorious "grandfather clause. " Afterproviding various restrictions of the suffrage, based upon education, character, and property, which it was deemed would in effectdisfranchise the colored race, an exception was made in favor of allcitizens whose fathers or grandfathers had been entitled to vote priorto 1867. Since none but white men could vote prior to 1867, thisexception obviously took in the poor and ignorant whites, while the sameclass of negroes were excluded. 

It was ingenious, but it was not fair. In due time a constitutionalconvention was called, in which the above scheme was adopted andsubmitted to a vote of the people for ratification. The campaign wasfought on the color line. Many white Republicans, deluded with the hopethat by the elimination of the negro vote their party might receiveaccessions from the Democratic ranks, went over to the white party. Byfraud in one place, by terrorism in another, and everywhere by theresistless moral force of the united whites, the negroes were reduced tothe apathy of despair, their few white allies demoralized, and theamendment adopted by a large majority. The negroes were taught thatthis is a white man's country, and that the sooner they made up theirminds to this fact, the better for all concerned. The white people wouldbe good to them so long as they behaved themselves and kept their place. As theoretical equals, --practical equality being forever out of thequestion, either by nature or by law, --there could have been nothing butstrife between them, in which the weaker party would invariably havesuffered most. 

Some colored men accepted the situation thus outlined, if not asdesirable, at least as inevitable. Most of them, however, had littlefaith in this condescending friendliness which was to take the place ofconstitutional rights. They knew they had been treated unfairly; thattheir enemies had prevailed against them; that their whilom friends hadstood passively by and seen them undone. Many of the most enterprisingand progressive left the state, and those who remain still labor under asense of wrong and outrage which renders them distinctly less valuableas citizens. 

The great steal was made, but the thieves did not turn honest, --thescheme 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 ofnegro slavery; in some form or other it will doubtless reap the fruitsof this later iniquity. 

Drastic as were these "reforms, " the results of which we haveanticipated somewhat, since the new Constitution was not to take effectimmediately, they moved all too slowly for the little coterie ofWellington conspirators, whose ambitions and needs urged them to promptaction. Under the new Constitution it would be two full years before the"nigger amendment" became effective, and meanwhile the Wellingtondistrict would remain hopelessly Republican. The committee decided, about two months before the fall election, that an active local campaignmust be carried on, with a view to discourage the negroes from attendingthe polls on election day. 

The question came up for discussion one forenoon in a meeting at theoffice of the Morning Chronicle, at which all of the "Big Three" werepresent. 

"Something must be done, " declared McBane, "and that damn quick. Toomany white people are saying that it will be better to wait until theamendment goes into effect. That would mean to leave the niggers incharge of this town for two years after the state has declared for whitesupremacy! I'm opposed to leaving it in their hands one hour, --them'smy sentiments!"

This proved to be the general opinion, and the discussion turned to thesubject of ways and means. 

"What became of that editorial in the nigger paper?" inquired thegeneral in his blandest tones, cleverly directing a smoke ring towardthe ceiling. "It lost some of its point back there, when we came nearlynching that nigger; but now that that has blown over, why wouldn't itbe a good thing to bring into play at the present juncture? Let's readit over again. "

Carteret extracted the paper from the pigeon-hole where he had placed itsome months before. The article was read aloud with emphasis anddiscussed phrase by phrase. Of its wording there could be littlecriticism, --it was temperately and even cautiously phrased. Assuggested by the general, the Ochiltree affair had proved that it wasnot devoid of truth. Its great offensiveness lay in its boldness: that anegro should publish in a newspaper what white people would scarcelyacknowledge to themselves in secret was much as though a Russian_moujik_ or a German peasant should rush into print to question thedivine right of the Lord's Anointed. The article was racial_lèse-majesté_ in the most aggravated form. A peg was needed upon whichto hang a _coup d'état_, and this editorial offered the requisiteopportunity. It was unanimously decided to republish the obnoxiousarticle, with comment adapted to fire the inflammable Southern heart androuse it against any further self-assertion of the negroes in politicsor elsewhere. 

"The time is ripe!" exclaimed McBane. "In a month we can have theniggers 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 hadbeen reached, "if we couldn't have Jerry fetch us some liquor?"

Jerry appeared in response to the usual summons. The general gave himthe money, and ordered three Calhoun cocktails. When Jerry returned withthe glasses on a tray, the general observed him with pointed curiosity. 

"What, in h--ll is the matter with you, Jerry? Your black face issplotched with brown and yellow patches, and your hair shines as thoughyou had fallen head-foremost into a firkin of butter. What's the matterwith you?"

Jerry seemed much embarrassed by this inquiry. 

"Nothin', suh, nothin', " he stammered. "It's--it's jes' somethin' Ibe'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. Youhave been reading the Afro-American Banner. "

He shook open the paper, which he had retained in his hand, and readfrom one of the advertisements:--

"'Kinky, curly hair made straight in two applications. Dark skinslightened two shades; mulattoes turned perfectly white. '

"This stuff is rank poison, Jerry, " continued the general with a mocksolemnity which did not impose upon Jerry, who nevertheless listenedwith an air of great alarm. He suspected that the general was making funof him; but he also knew that the general would like to think that Jerrybelieved him in earnest; and to please the white folks was Jerry'sconsistent aim in life. "I can see the signs of decay in your face, andyour hair will all fall out in a week or two at the latest, --mark mywords!"

McBane had listened to this pleasantry with a sardonic sneer. It was awaste of valuable time. To Carteret it seemed in doubtful taste. Thesegrotesque advertisements had their tragic side. They were proof that thenegroes had read the handwriting on the wall. These pitiful attempts tochange their physical characteristics were an acknowledgment, on theirown part, that the negro was doomed, and that the white man was toinherit the earth and hold all other races under his heel. For, as themonths had passed, Carteret's thoughts, centring more and more upon thenegro, had led him farther and farther, until now he was firmlyconvinced that there was no permanent place for the negro in the UnitedStates, if indeed anywhere in the world, except under the ground. Morepathetic even than Jerry's efforts to escape from the universal doom ofhis race was his ignorance that even if he could, by some strangealchemy, bleach his skin and straighten his hair, there would stillremain, underneath it all, only the unbleached darky, --the ass in thelion's skin. 

When the general had finished his facetious lecture, Jerry backed out ofthe room shamefacedly, though affecting a greater confusion than hereally felt. Jerry had not reasoned so closely as Carteret, but he hadrealized that it was a distinct advantage to be white, --an advantagewhich white people had utilized to secure all the best things in theworld; and he had entertained the vague hope that by changing hiscomplexion he might share this prerogative. While he suspected thegeneral's sincerity, he nevertheless felt a little apprehensive lest thegeneral's prediction about the effects of the face-bleach and otherpreparations might prove true, --the general was a white gentleman andought to know, --and decided to abandon their use. 

This purpose was strengthened by his next interview with the major. WhenCarteret summoned him, an hour later, after the other gentlemen hadtaken their leave, Jerry had washed his head thoroughly and thereremained no trace of the pomade. An attempt to darken the lighter spotsin his cuticle by the application of printer's ink had not provedequally successful, --the retouching left the spots as much too dark asthey had formerly been too light. 

"Jerry, " said Carteret sternly, "when I hired you to work for theChronicle, you were black. The word 'negro' means 'black. ' The bestnegro is a black negro, of the pure type, as it came from the hand ofGod. If you wish to get along well with the white people, the blackeryou are the better, --white people do not like negroes who want to bewhite. A man should be content to remain as God made him and where Godplaced him. So no more of this nonsense. Are you going to vote at thenext 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 yourown interests lie. I put it to you whether you cannot trust yourselfmore safely in the hands of white gentlemen, who are your true friends, than in the hands of ignorant and purchasable negroes and unscrupulouswhite scoundrels?"

"Dere's no doubt about it, suh, " assented Jerry, with a vehemenceproportioned to his desire to get back into favor. "I ain' gwine terhave nothin' ter do wid de 'lection, suh! Ef I don' vote, I kin keep myjob, can't I, suh?"

The major eyed Jerry with an air of supreme disgust. What could beexpected of a race so utterly devoid of tact? It seemed as though thisnegro thought a white gentleman might want to bribe him to remain awayfrom the polls; and the negro's willingness to accept the imaginarybribe demonstrated the venal nature of the colored race, --its entirelack of moral principle!

"You will retain your place, Jerry, " he said severely, "so long as youperform your duties to my satisfaction and behave yourself properly. "

With this grandiloquent subterfuge Carteret turned to his next articleon white supremacy. Jerry did not delude himself with any fine-spunsophistry. He knew perfectly well that he held his job upon thecondition that he stayed away from the polls at the approachingelection. 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, andJerry was not all kinds of a fool. 

XXIX

MUTTERINGS OF THE STORM

Events moved rapidly during the next few days. The reproduction, in theChronicle, of the article from the Afro-American Banner, with Carteret'sinflammatory comment, took immediate effect. It touched the Southernwhite man in his most sensitive spot. To him such an article was aninsult to white womanhood, and must be resented by some activesteps, --mere words would be no answer at all. To meet words with wordsupon such a subject would be to acknowledge the equality of the negroand his right to discuss or criticise the conduct of the white people. 

The colored people became alarmed at the murmurings of the whites, whichseemed to presage a coming storm. A number of them sought to armthemselves, but ascertained, upon inquiring at the stores, that no whitemerchant would sell a negro firearms. Since all the dealers in this sortof merchandise were white men, the negroes had to be satisfied withoiling up the old army muskets which some of them possessed, and the fewrevolvers with which a small rowdy element generally managed to keepthemselves supplied. Upon an effort being made to purchase firearms froma Northern city, the express company, controlled by local men, refusedto accept the consignment. The white people, on the other hand, procuredboth arms and ammunition in large quantities, and the Wellington Graysdrilled with great assiduity at their armory. 

All this went on without any public disturbance of the town'stranquillity. A stranger would have seen nothing to excite hiscuriosity. The white people did their talking among themselves, andmerely grew more distant in their manner toward the colored folks, whoinstinctively closed their ranks as the whites drew away. With each daythat passed the feeling grew more tense. The editor of the Afro-AmericanBanner, whose office had been quietly garrisoned for several nights byarmed negroes, became frightened, and disappeared from the town betweentwo suns. 

The conspirators were jubilant at the complete success of their plans. It only remained for them to so direct this aroused public feeling thatit might completely accomplish the desired end, --to change the politicalcomplexion of the city government and assure the ascendency of thewhites until the amendment should go into effect. A revolution, and nota 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 ofthis 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 wayof doing things. I was in Nicaragua, ten years ago, when Paterno'srevolution drove out Igorroto's government. It was as easy as fallingoff a log. Paterno had the arms and the best men. Igorroto was notlooking 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 easyto manage compared with the fiery mixture that flourishes in thetropics. "

"I should not advocate murder, " returned Carteret. "We are animated byhigh 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'tobject to frightening the negroes, but I am opposed to unnecessarybloodshed. "

"I'm not quite so particular, " struck in McBane. "They need to betaught a lesson, and a nigger more or less wouldn't be missed. There'stoo many of 'em now. "

"Of course, " continued Carteret, "if we should decide upon a certainmode of procedure, and the negroes should resist, a different reasoningmight apply; but I will have no premeditated murder. "

"In Central and South America, " observed the general reflectively, "noneare hurt except those who get in the way. "

"There'll be no niggers hurt, " said McBane contemptuously, "unless theystrain 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 theniggers that are killed. "

The conference resulted in a well-defined plan, to be put into operationthe following day, by which the city government was to be wrested fromthe Republicans and their negro allies. 

"And now, " said General Belmont, "while we are cleansing the Augeanstables, we may as well remove the cause as the effect. There areseveral negroes too many in this town, which will be much the betterwithout them. There's that yellow lawyer, Watson. He's altogether toomouthy, and has too much business. Every nigger that gets into troublesends for Watson, and white lawyers, with families to support and socialpositions to keep up, are deprived of their legitimate source ofincome. "

"There's that damn nigger real estate agent, " blurted out McBane. "BillyKitchen used to get most of the nigger business, but this darky hasalmost driven him to the poorhouse. A white business man is entitled toa living in his own profession and his own home. That nigger don'tbelong here nohow. He came from the North a year or two ago, and is handin glove with Barber, the nigger editor, which is enough of itself todamn 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 niggerpreachers either. They want to stay here, where the loaves and thefishes are. We can make 'em write letters to the newspapers justifyingour course, as a condition of their remaining. "

"What about Billings?" asked McBane. Billings was the white Republicanmayor. "Is that skunk to be allowed to stay in town?"

"No, " returned the general, "every white Republican office-holder oughtto be made to go. This town is only big enough for Democrats, andnegroes who can be taught to keep their place. "

"What about the colored doctor, " queried McBane, "with the hospital, andthe 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, nortread on any one else's toes. His father was a good citizen, whichcounts in his favor. He's spending money in the community too, andcontributes 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 getthings arranged, there'll be no trouble. A stream cannot rise higherthan its fountain, and a smart nigger without a constituency will nolonger be an object of fear. I say, let the doctor alone. "

"He'll have to keep mighty quiet, though, " muttered McBanediscontentedly. "I don't like smart niggers. I've had to shoot severalof them, in the course of my life. "

"Personally, I dislike the man, " interposed Carteret, "and if Iconsulted my own inclinations, would say expel him with the rest; but mygrievance is a personal one, and to gratify it in that way would be aloss 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 regardfor 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 anedge on his. We'll never get a better chance to have things our way. Ifthis 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 hasany business here when a white man wants him gone!"

Carteret frowned darkly at this brutal characterization of theirmotives. It robbed the enterprise of all its poetry, and put a solemnact of revolution upon the plane of a mere vulgar theft of power. Eventhe 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, " hesaid. 

Carteret excused himself and left the room. 

"Jerry, " said the general, "you lump of ebony, the sight of you remindsme! 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 nothingabout 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 distime, sho': I'll jes' make dat _fo_' cocktails, an' de gin'l won'tnever know de diffe'nce. I ain' gwine 'cross de road fer nothin', not efI knows it. "

Half an hour later, the conspirators dispersed. They had fixed the hourof the proposed revolution, the course to be pursued, the results to beobtained; but in stating their equation they had overlooked onefactor, --God, or Fate, or whatever one may choose to call the Power thatholds 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 ofher aunt's death had affected her health, for since that event she hadfallen into a nervous condition which gave the major grave concern. Muchto the general surprise, Mrs. Ochiltree had left no will, and noproperty of any considerable value except her homestead, which descendedto Mrs. Carteret as the natural heir. Whatever she may have had on handin the way of ready money had undoubtedly been abstracted from the cedarchest by the midnight marauder, to whose visit her death was immediatelydue. Her niece's grief was held to mark a deep-seated affection for thegrim old woman who had reared her. 

Mrs. Carteret's present state of mind, of which her nervousness was asufficiently accurate reflection, did in truth date from her aunt'sdeath, and also in part from the time of the conversation with Mrs. Ochiltree, one afternoon, during and after the drive past Miller's newhospital. Mrs. Ochiltree had grown steadily more and more childish afterthat time, and her niece had never succeeded in making her pick up thethread of thought where it had been dropped. At any rate, Mrs. Ochiltreehad made no further disclosure upon the subject. 

An examination, not long after her aunt's death, of the papers foundnear the cedar chest on the morning after the murder had contributed toMrs. Carteret's enlightenment, but had not promoted her peace of mind. 

When Mrs. Carteret reached home, after her hurried exploration of thecedar chest, she thrust into a bureau drawer the envelope she had found. So fully was her mind occupied, for several days, with the funeral, andwith the excitement attending the arrest of Sandy Campbell, that shedeferred the examination of the contents of the envelope until near theend of the week. 

One morning, while alone in her chamber, she drew the envelope from thedrawer, and was holding it in her hand, hesitating as to whether or notshe 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 vagueuneasiness, she put the paper back. 

"Phil, " she said to her husband at luncheon, "Aunt Polly said somestrange things to me one day before she died, --I don't know whether shewas quite in her right mind or not; but suppose that my father had lefta will by which it was provided that half his property should go to thatwoman 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 fatherwould never have been such a fool; but even if he had, no such willcould have stood the test of the courts. It would clearly have been dueto the improper influence of a designing woman. "

"So that legally, as well as morally, " said Mrs. Carteret, "the willwould 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 aboutthe affair. The only possible consideration for such a gift was animmoral one. I don't wish to speak harshly of your father, my dear, but his conduct was gravely reprehensible. The woman herself had noright or claim whatever; she would have been whipped and expelled fromthe town, if justice--blind, bleeding justice, then prostrate at thefeet 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 theestate of your ancestors, of which, a few years before, she wouldherself have formed a part? The child of shame, it was hers to pay thepenalty. But the discussion is all in the air, Olivia. Your father neverdid and never would have left such a will. "

This conversation relieved Mrs. Carteret's uneasiness. Going to her roomshortly afterwards, she took the envelope from her bureau drawer anddrew out a bulky paper. The haunting fear that it might be such a willas her aunt had suggested was now removed; for such an instrument, inthe 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, tothrow the paper in the fire without looking at it. She wished to thinkas well as might be of her father, and she felt that her respect for hismemory would not be strengthened by the knowledge that he had meant toleave his estate away from her; for her aunt's words had been open tothe construction that she was to have been left destitute. Curiositystrongly prompted her to read the paper. Perhaps the will contained nosuch provision as she had feared, and it might convey some request ordirection which ought properly to be complied with. 

She had been standing in front of the bureau while these thoughts passedthrough her mind, and now, dropping the envelope back into the drawermechanically, 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 wereseveral expressions of which she did not perhaps appreciate the fulleffect; but a very hasty glance enabled her to ascertain the purport ofthe paper. It was a will, by which, in one item, her father devised tohis daughter Janet, the child of the woman known as Julia Brown, the sumof ten thousand dollars, and a certain plantation or tract of land ashort distance from the town of Wellington. The rest and residue of hisestate, after deducting all legal charges and expenses, was bequeathedto his beloved daughter, Olivia Merkell. 

Mrs. Carteret breathed a sigh of relief. Her father had not preferredanother to her, but had left to his lawful daughter the bulk of hisestate. She felt at the same time a growing indignation at the thoughtthat that woman should so have wrought upon her father's weakness as toinduce him to think of leaving so much valuable property to herbastard, --property which by right should go, and now would go, to herown 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 hadbeen a light frost the night before, and the air was somewhat chilly. For the moment the room was empty. Mrs. Carteret came out from herchamber and threw the offending paper into the fire, and watched itslowly burn. When it had been consumed, the carbon residue of one sheetstill retained its form, and she could read the words on the charredportion. 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 mydaughter Olivia Merkell, the child of my beloved first wife. "

Mrs. Carteret had not before observed the word "first. " Instinctivelyshe stretched toward the fire the poker which she held in her hand, andat its touch the shadowy remnant fell to pieces, and nothing but ashesremained upon the hearth. 

Not until the next morning did she think again of the envelope which hadcontained the paper she had burned. Opening the drawer where it lay, theoblong blue envelope confronted her. The sight of it was distasteful. The indorsed side lay uppermost, and the words seemed like a mutereproach:--

"The Last Will and Testament of Samuel Merkell. "

Snatching up the envelope, she glanced into it mechanically as she movedtoward the next room, and perceived a thin folded paper which hadheretofore escaped her notice. When opened, it proved to be acertificate of marriage, in due form, between Samuel Merkell and JuliaBrown. It was dated from a county in South Carolina, about two yearsbefore her father's death. 

For a moment Mrs. Carteret stood gazing blankly at this faded slip ofpaper. Her father _had_ married this woman!--at least he had gonethrough the form of marriage with her, for to him it had surely been nomore than an empty formality. The marriage of white and colored personswas forbidden by law. Only recently she had read of a case where boththe parties to such a crime, a colored man and a white woman, had beensentenced to long terms in the penitentiary. She even recalled thecircumstances. The couple had been living together unlawfully, --theywere very low people, whose private lives were beneath the publicnotice, --but influenced by a religious movement pervading the community, had sought, they said at the trial, to secure the blessing of God upontheir union. The higher law, which imperiously demanded that the purityand prestige of the white race be preserved at any cost, had intervenedat this point. 

Mechanically she moved toward the fireplace, so dazed by this discoveryas to be scarcely conscious of her own actions. She surely had notformed any definite intention of destroying this piece of paper when herfingers relaxed unconsciously and let go their hold upon it. The draughtswept it toward the fireplace. Ere scarcely touching the flames itcaught, blazed fiercely, and shot upward with the current of air. Amoment later the record of poor Julia's marriage was scattered to thefour winds of heaven, as her poor body had long since mingled with thedust of earth. 

The letter remained unread. In her agitation at the discovery of themarriage certificate, Olivia had almost forgotten the existence of theletter. It was addressed to "John Delamere, Esq. , as Executor of my LastWill and Testament, " while the lower left hand corner bore thedirection: "To be delivered only after my death, with seal unbroken. "

The seal was broken already; Mr. Delamere was dead; the letter couldnever be delivered. Mrs. Carteret unfolded it and read:--

MY DEAR DELAMERE, --I have taken the liberty of naming you as executor ofmy last will, because you are my friend, and the only man of myacquaintance 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 willfind a certificate of marriage between my child Janet's mother andmyself. While I have never exactly repented of this marriage, I havenever had the courage to acknowledge it openly. If I had not marriedJulia, I fear Polly Ochiltree would have married me by main force, --asshe would marry you or any other gentleman unfortunate enough to fall inthe way of this twice-widowed man-hunter. When my wife died, three yearsago, her sister Polly offered to keep house for me and the child. Iwould sooner have had the devil in the house, and yet I trembled withalarm, --there seemed no way of escape, --it was so clearly and obviouslythe proper thing. 

But she herself gave me my opportunity. I was on the point ofconsenting, when she demanded, as a condition of her coming, that Idischarge Julia, my late wife's maid. She was laboring under amisapprehension in regard to the girl, but I grasped at the straw, anddid everything to foster her delusion. I declared solemnly that nothingunder heaven would induce me to part with Julia. The controversyresulted in my permitting Polly to take the child, while I retained themaid. 

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 handsomegirl, 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 wasfree. The air was full of liberty, and equal rights, and all theabolition claptrap, and she made marriage a condition of her remaininglonger in the house. In a moment of weakness I took her away to a placewhere we were not known, and married her. If she had left me, I shouldhave fallen a victim to Polly Ochiltree, --to which any fate waspreferable. 

And then, old friend, my weakness kept to the fore. I was ashamed ofthis marriage, and my new wife saw it. Moreover, she loved me, --toowell, indeed, to wish to make me unhappy. The ceremony had satisfied herconscience, had set her right, she said, with God; for the opinions ofmen she did not care, since I loved her, --she only wanted to compensateme, as best she could, for the great honor I had done myhandmaiden, --for she had read her Bible, and I was the Abraham to herHagar, compared with whom she considered herself at a great advantage. It was her own proposition that nothing be said of this marriage. If anyshame should fall on her, it would fall lightly, for it would beundeserved. When the child came, she still kept silence. No one, sheargued, could blame an innocent child for the accident of birth, and inthe sight of God this child had every right to exist; while among herown people illegitimacy would involve but little stigma. I need notsay that I was easily persuaded to accept this sacrifice; but touched byher fidelity, I swore to provide handsomely for them both. This I havetried to do by the will of which I ask you to act as executor. Had Ileft the child more, it might serve as a ground for attacking the will;my acknowledgment of the tie of blood is sufficient to justify areasonable bequest. 

I have taken this course for the sake of my daughter Olivia, who is dearto me, and whom I would not wish to make ashamed; and in deference topublic opinion, which it is not easy to defy. If, after my death, Juliashould choose to make our secret known, I shall of course be beyond thereach of hard words; but loyalty to my memory will probably keep hersilent. A strong man would long since have acknowledged her before theworld and taken the consequences; but, alas! I am only myself, and theatmosphere I live in does not encourage moral heroism. I should like tobe 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 futurethis child of Julia's and of mine should grow to womanhood; if sheshould prove to have her mother's gentleness and love of virtue; if, inthe new era which is opening up for her mother's race, to which, unfortunately, she must belong, she should become, in time, an educatedwoman; and if the time should ever come when, by virtue of her educationor the development of her people, it would be to her a source of shameor unhappiness that she was an illegitimate child, --if you are stillalive, 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 askher to forgive her father's weakness. 

When this letter comes to you, I shall have passed to--the Beyond; but Iam 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 whichhad been attached to the will. 

Having firmly convinced herself of the illegality of the papers, and ofher own right to destroy them, Mrs. Carteret ought to have felt relievedthat 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 theday before. The sight of this person she had always found offensive, andnow, she felt, in view of what she had just learned, it must be evenmore so. Never, while this woman lived in the town, would she be able tothrow 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 mostserious concern of life. A marriage certificate, rightfully procured, was scarcely less solemn, so far as it went, than the Bible itself. Herown she cherished as the apple of her eye. It was the evidence of herwifehood, the seal of her child's legitimacy, her patent ofnobility, --the token of her own and her child's claim to social placeand consideration. She had burned this pretended marriage certificatebecause it meant nothing. Nevertheless, she could not ignore theknowledge of another such marriage, of which every one in the townknew, --a celebrated case, indeed, where a white man, of a family quiteas prominent as her father's, had married a colored woman during themilitary occupation of the state just after the civil war. The legalityof the marriage had never been questioned. It had been fully consummatedby twenty years of subsequent cohabitation. No amount of socialpersecution had ever shaken the position of the husband. With an ironwill he had stayed on in the town, a living protest against theestablished customs of the South, so rudely interrupted for a few shortyears; and, though his children were negroes, though he had neverappeared in public with his wife, no one had ever questioned thevalidity of his marriage or the legitimacy of his offspring. 

The marriage certificate which Mrs. Carteret had burned dated from theperiod of the military occupation. Hence Mrs. Carteret, who was a goodwoman, and would not have done a dishonest thing, felt decidedlyuncomfortable. She had destroyed the marriage certificate, but its ghoststill haunted her. 

Major Carteret, having just eaten a good dinner, was in a very agreeablehumor when, that same evening, his wife brought up again the subject oftheir previous discussion. 

"Phil, " she asked, "Aunt Polly told me that once, long before my fatherdied, when she went to remonstrate with him for keeping that Woman inthe house, he threatened to marry Julia if Aunt Polly ever said anotherword to him about the matter. Suppose he _had_ married her, and had thenleft a will, --would the marriage have made any difference, so far as thewill was concerned?"

Major Carteret laughed. "Your Aunt Polly, " he said, "was a remarkablewoman, with a wonderful imagination, which seems to have grown morevivid as her memory and judgment weakened. Why should your father marryhis negro housemaid? Mr. Merkell was never rated as a fool, --he had oneof the clearest heads in Wellington. I saw him only a day or two beforehe died, and I could swear before any court in Christendom that he wasof sound mind and memory to the last. These notions of your aunt weremere delusions. Your father was never capable of such a folly. "

"Of course I am only supposing a case, " returned Olivia. "Imagining sucha case, just for the argument, would the marriage have been legal?"

"That would depend. If he had married her during the militaryoccupation, or over in South Carolina, the marriage would have beenlegally 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 allprobability. "

"Suppose he had left no will?"

"You are getting the matter down pretty fine, my dear! The woman wouldhave taken one third of the real estate for life, and could have livedin the homestead until she died. She would also have had half the otherproperty, --the money and goods and furniture, everything except theland, --and the negro child would have shared with you the balance of theestate. That, I believe, is according to the law of descent anddistribution. "

Mrs. Carteret lapsed into a troubled silence. Her father _had_ marriedthe woman. In her heart she had no doubt of the validity of themarriage, so far as the law was concerned; if one marriage of such akind would stand, another contracted under similar conditions wasequally as good. If the marriage had been valid, Julia's child had beenlegitimate. The will she had burned gave this sister of hers--sheshuddered at the word--but a small part of the estate. Under the law, which intervened now that there was no will, the property should havebeen 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 fora moment she dimly perceived it might have been, then through the longcenturies there had been piled up a catalogue of wrong and outragewhich, 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 thepenalty, of which, she realized, this burden placed upon her consciencewas but another installment. 

If she should make known the facts she had learned, it would meanwhat?--a division of her father's estate, a recognition of the legalityof her father's relations with Julia. Such a stain upon her father'smemory would be infinitely worse than if he had _not_ married her. Tohave lived with her without marriage was a social misdemeanor, at whichsociety in the old days had winked, or at most had frowned. To havemarried her was to have committed the unpardonable social sin. Such ascandal Mrs. Carteret could not have endured. Should she seek to makerestitution, it would necessarily involve the disclosure of at leastsome of the facts. Had she not destroyed the will, she might havecompromised with her conscience by producing it and acting upon itsterms, which had been so stated as not to disclose the marriage. Thiswas now rendered impossible by her own impulsive act; she could notmention 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 goodwoman, according to her lights, with a cultivated conscience, to whichshe had always looked as her mentor and infallible guide. 

Hence Mrs. Carteret, after this painful discovery, remained for a longtime ill at ease, --so disturbed, indeed, that her mind reacted upon hernerves, which had never been strong; and her nervousness affected herstrength, which had never been great, until Carteret, whose love for herhad been deepened and strengthened by the advent of his son, becamealarmed for her health, and spoke very seriously to Dr. Price concerningit. 

XXXI

THE SHADOW OF A DREAM

Mrs. Carteret awoke, with a start, from a troubled dream. She had beensailing across a sunlit sea, in a beautiful boat, her child lying on abright-colored cushion at her feet. Overhead the swelling sail served asan awning to keep off the sun's rays, which far ahead were reflectedwith dazzling brilliancy from the shores of a golden island. Her son, she dreamed, was a fairy prince, and yonder lay his kingdom, to which hewas being borne, lying there at her feet, in this beautiful boat, acrossthe sunlit sea. 

Suddenly and without warning the sky was overcast. A squall struck theboat and tore away the sail. In the distance a huge billow--a greatwhite wall of water--came sweeping toward their frail craft, threateningit with instant destruction. She clasped her child to her bosom, and amoment later found herself struggling in the sea, holding the child'shead above the water. As she floated there, as though sustained by someunseen force, she saw in the distance a small boat approaching over thestorm-tossed waves. Straight toward her it came, and she had reached outher hand to grasp its side, when the rower looked back, and she saw thatit was her sister. The recognition had been mutual. With a sharpmovement of one oar the boat glided by, leaving her clutching at theempty air. She felt her strength begin to fail. Despairingly shesignaled with her disengaged hand; but the rower, after one mute, reproachful glance, rowed on. Mrs. Carteret's strength grew less andless. The child became heavy as lead. Herself floating in the water, asthough it were her native element, she could no longer support thechild. Lower and lower it sank, --she was powerless to save it or toaccompany it, --until, gasping wildly for breath, it threw up its littlehands and sank, the cruel water gurgling over its head, --when she awokewith a start and a chill, and lay there trembling for several minutesbefore she heard little Dodie in his crib, breathing heavily. 

She rose softly, went to the crib, and changed the child's position toan easier one. He breathed more freely, and she went back to bed, butnot to sleep. 

She had tried to put aside the distressing questions raised by thediscovery of her father's will and the papers accompanying it. Whyshould she be burdened with such a responsibility, at this late day, when the touch of time had well-nigh healed these old sores? Surely, Godhad 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, andthat those who once had borne its burden upon their consciences couldstand erect and feel that they themselves were free. The weed had beencut down, but its roots remained, deeply imbedded in the soil, to springup and trouble a new generation. Upon her weak shoulders was placed theburden of her father's weakness, her father's folly. It was left to herto acknowledge or not this shameful marriage and her sister's rights intheir father's estate. 

Balancing one consideration against another, she had almost decidedthat she might ignore this tie. To herself, Olivia Merkell, --OliviaCarteret, --the stigma of base birth would have meant social ostracism, social ruin, the averted face, the finger of pity or of scorn. All thetraditional weight of public disapproval would have fallen upon her asthe unhappy fruit of an unblessed union. To this other woman it couldhave had no such significance, --it had been the lot of her race. Tothem, twenty-five years before, sexual sin had never been imputed asmore 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 negresswould only be less dreadful than to have it appear that he had committedsome terrible crime. It was a crime now, by the laws of every SouthernState, for white and colored persons to intermarry. She shuddered beforethe possibility that at some time in the future some person, none toowell informed, might learn that her father had married a colored woman, and might assume that she, Olivia Carteret, or her child, had sprungfrom this shocking _mésalliance_, --a fate to which she would willinglyhave preferred death. No, this marriage must never be made known; thesecret should remain buried forever in her own heart!

But there still remained the question of her father's property and herfather's will. This woman was her father's child, --of that there couldbe no doubt, it was written in her features no less than in her father'swill. As his lawful child, --of which, alas! there could also be noquestion, --she was entitled by law to half his estate. Mrs. Carteret'sproblem had sunk from the realm of sentiment to that of material things, which, curiously enough, she found much more difficult. For, while thenegro, by the traditions of her people, was barred from the world ofsentiment, his rights of property were recognized. The question hadbecome, with Mrs. Carteret, a question of _meum_ and _tuum_. Had thegirl Janet been poor, ignorant, or degraded, as might well have been herfate, Mrs. Carteret might have felt a vicarious remorse for her aunt'ssuppression of the papers; but fate had compensated Janet for the loss;she had been educated, she had married well; she had not suffered forlack of the money of which she had been defrauded, and did not need itnow. She had a child, it is true, but this child's career would be socircumscribed by the accident of color that too much wealth would onlybe a source of unhappiness; to her own child, on the contrary, it wouldopen every door of life. 

It would be too lengthy a task to follow the mind and conscience of thismuch-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 shewished to keep void of offense. She had to confront a situationinvolving the element of race, upon which the moral standards of herpeople were hopelessly confused. Mrs. Carteret reached the conclusion, ere daylight dawned, that she would be silent upon the subject of herfather's second marriage. Neither party had wished it known, --neitherJulia nor her father, --and she would respect her father's wishes. To actotherwise would be to defeat his will, to make known what he hadcarefully concealed, and to give Janet a claim of title to one half herfather's estate, while he had only meant her to have the ten thousanddollars named in the will. 

By the same reasoning, she must carry out her father's will in respectto this bequest. Here there was another difficulty. The mininginvestment into which they had entered shortly after the birth of littleDodie had tied up so much of her property that it would have beendifficult to procure ten thousand dollars immediately; while a demandfor 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 raisethe presumption of some right on the part of Janet in her father'sestate. Suspicion once aroused, it might be possible to trace thishidden marriage, and establish it by legal proof. The marriage onceverified, the claim for half the estate could not be denied. She couldnot plead her father's will to the contrary, for this would be toacknowledge the suppression of the will, in itself a criminal act. 

There was, however, a way of escape. This hospital which had recentlybeen opened was the personal property of her sister's husband. Some timein the future, when their investments matured, she would present to thehospital a sum of money equal to the amount her father had meant hiscolored daughter to have. Thus indirectly both her father's will and herown conscience would be satisfied. 

Mrs. Carteret had reached this comfortable conclusion, and was fallingasleep, when her attention was again drawn by her child's breathing. Shetook it in her own arms and soon fell asleep. 

"By the way, Olivia, " said the major, when leaving the house nextmorning for the office, "if you have any business down town to-day, transact it this forenoon. Under no circumstances must you or Clara orthe baby leave the house after midday. "

"Why, what's the matter, Phil?"

"Nothing to alarm you, except that there may be a little politicaldemonstration which may render the streets unsafe. You are not to sayanything 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 bestfor ladies and children to stay indoors. "

Mrs. Carteret's nerves were still more or less unstrung from her mentalstruggles of the night, and the memory of her dream came to her like adim foreboding of misfortune. As though in sympathy with its mother'sfeelings, the baby did not seem as well as usual. The new nurse was byno means an ideal nurse, --Mammy Jane understood the child much better. If there should be any trouble with the negroes, toward which herhusband's remark seemed to point, --she knew the general politicalsituation, though not informed in regard to her husband's plans, --shewould like to have Mammy Jane near her, where the old nurse might beprotected 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 thetown, with a message asking the old woman to come immediately to Mrs. Carteret's. Unfortunately, Mammy Jane had gone to visit a sick woman inthe 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 asfair 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 inair, like distant islands in a sapphire sea. A salt-laden breeze fromthe 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, witharmed white men. The negroes, going about, had noted, with uneasycuriosity, that the stores and places of business, many of which closedat noon, were unduly late in opening for the afternoon, though no onesuspected the reason for the delay; but at three o'clock every passingcolored man was ordered, by the first white man he met, to throw up hishands. If he complied, he was searched, more or less roughly, forfirearms, and then warned to get off the street. When he met anothergroup of white men the scene was repeated. The man thus summarily heldup seldom encountered more than two groups before disappearing acrosslots to his own home or some convenient hiding-place. If he resisted anydemand of those who halted him--But the records of the day arehistorical; they may be found in the newspapers of the following date, but they are more firmly engraved upon the hearts and memories of thepeople of Wellington. For many months there were negro families in thetown whose children screamed with fear and ran to their mothers forprotection at the mere sight of a white man. 

Dr. Miller had received a call, about one o'clock, to attend a case atthe house of a well-to-do colored farmer, who lived some three or fourmiles from the town, upon the very road, by the way, along which Millerhad driven so furiously a few weeks before, in the few hours thatintervened before Sandy Campbell would probably have been burned at thestake. The drive to his patient's home, the necessary inquiries, thefilling of the prescription from his own medicine-case, which he carriedalong with him, the little friendly conversation about the weather andthe crops, and, the farmer being an intelligent and thinking man, theinevitable subject of the future of their race, --these, added to thereturn 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 dozenmen and women approaching, with fear written in their faces, in everydegree from apprehension to terror. Women were weeping and childrencrying, 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 sightof Miller's buggy they made a dash for cover, disappearing, like a coveyof 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 vaguefeeling of alarm. A psychologist, seeking to trace the effects ofslavery upon the human mind, might find in the South many a curiousillustration of this curse, abiding long after the actual physicalbondage had terminated. In the olden time the white South labored underthe constant fear of negro insurrections. Knowing that they themselves, if in the negroes' place, would have risen in the effort to throw offthe yoke, all their reiterated theories of negro subordination andinferiority could not remove that lurking fear, founded upon the obscureconsciousness that the slaves ought to have risen. Conscience, it hasbeen said, makes cowards of us all. There was never, on the continent ofAmerica, a successful slave revolt, nor one which lasted more than a fewhours, or resulted in the loss of more than a few white lives; yet neverwas 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 themaster. There were good men, according to their lights, --according totheir training and environment, --among the Southern slaveholders, whotreated their slaves kindly, as slaves, from principle, because theyrecognized the claims of humanity, even under the dark skin of a humanchattel. There was many a one who protected or pampered his negroes, asthe case might be, just as a man fondles his dog, --because they werehis; they were a part of his estate, an integral part of the entity ofproperty and person which made up the aristocrat; but with all thiskindness, there was always present, in the consciousness of the lowestslave, the knowledge that he was in his master's power, and that hecould make no effectual protest against the abuse of that authority. There was also the knowledge, among those who could think at all, thatthe best of masters was himself a slave to a system, which hampered hismovements but scarcely less than those of his bondmen. 

When, therefore, Miller saw these men and women scampering into thebushes, he divined, with this slumbering race consciousness which yearsof culture had not obliterated, that there was some race trouble onfoot. His intuition did not long remain unsupported. A black head wascautiously protruded from the shrubbery, and a black voice--if such adescription 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. Dew'ite folks is riz 'gins' de niggers, an' say dey're gwine ter killeve'y nigger dey kin lay han's on. "

Miller's heart leaped to his throat, as he thought of his wife andchild. This story was preposterous; it could not be true, and yet theremust be something in it. He tried to question his informant, but the manwas so overcome with excitement and fear that Miller saw clearly that hemust go farther for information. He had read in the Morning Chronicle, afew days before, the obnoxious editorial quoted from the Afro-AmericanBanner, and had noted the comment upon it by the white editor. He hadfelt, as at the time of its first publication, that the editorial wasill-advised. It could do no good, and was calculated to arouse theanimosity of those whose friendship, whose tolerance, at least, wasnecessary and almost indispensable to the colored people. They wereliving, at the best, in a sort of armed neutrality with the whites; sucha publication, however serviceable elsewhere, could have no othereffect in Wellington than to endanger this truce and defeat the hope ofa possible future friendship. The right of free speech entitled Barberto publish it; a larger measure of common-sense would have made himwithhold it. Whether it was the republication of this article that hadstirred up anew the sleeping dogs of race prejudice and whetted theirthirst for blood, he could not yet tell; but at any rate, there wasmischief on foot. 

"Fer God's sake, doctuh, don' go no closeter ter dat town, " pleaded hisinformant, "er you'll be killt sho'. Come on wid us, suh, an' tek keerer 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 andchild are in the town!"

Fortunately, he reflected, there were no patients confined in thehospital, --if there should be anything in this preposterous story. Toone unfamiliar with Southern life, it might have seemed impossible thatthese good Christian people, who thronged the churches on Sunday, andwept over the sufferings of the lowly Nazarene, and sent missionaries tothe heathen, could be hungering and thirsting for the blood of theirfellow men; but Miller cherished no such delusion. He knew the historyof his country; he had the threatened lynching of Sandy Campbell vividlyin mind; and he was fully persuaded that to race prejudice, once roused, any horror was possible. That women or children would be molested of setpurpose he did not believe, but that they might suffer by accident wasmore 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, glancingaround him, saw a familiar form standing by the roadside, gesticulatingvehemently. 

He drew up the horse with a suddenness that threw the faithful andobedient animal back upon its haunches. The colored lawyer, Watson, cameup to the buggy. That he was laboring under great and unusual excitementwas quite apparent from his pale face and frightened air. 

"What's the matter, Watson?" demanded Miller, hoping now to obtain somereliable information. 

"Matter!" exclaimed the other. "Everything's the matter! The whitepeople are up in arms. They have disarmed the colored people, killinghalf a dozen in the process, and wounding as many more. They have forcedthe mayor and aldermen to resign, have formed a provisional citygovernment _à la Française_, and have ordered me and half a dozen otherfellows 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 wifeand children are away. I knew you were out here, however, and I thoughtI'd come out and wait for you, so that we might talk the matter over. Idon't imagine they mean you any harm, personally, because you tread onnobody's toes; but you're too valuable a man for the race to lose, so Ithought 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 everattempting to live here again. "

"Have you seen anything of my wife and child?" asked Miller, intent uponthe danger to which they might be exposed. 

"No; I didn't go to the house. I inquired at the drugstore and foundout where you had gone. You needn't fear for them, --it is not a war onwomen and children. "

"War of any kind is always hardest on the women and children, " returnedMiller; "I must hurry on and see that mine are safe. "

"They'll not carry the war so far into Africa as that, " returnedWatson; "but I never saw anything like it. Yesterday I had a hundredwhite friends in the town, or thought I had, --men who spoke pleasantlyto me on the street, and sometimes gave me their hands to shake. Not oneof them said to me today: 'Watson, stay at home this afternoon. ' I mighthave been killed, like any one of half a dozen others who have bit thedust, for any word that one of my 'friends' had said to warn me. Whenthe 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 nearingthe town. 

"I think I'll leave you here, Miller, " said Watson, as they approachedthe outskirts, "and make my way home by a roundabout path, as I shouldlike 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 seentogether. If you put the hood of your buggy down, and sit well back inthe shadow, you may be able to reach home without interruption; butavoid the main streets. I'll see you again this evening, if we're bothalive, and I can reach you; for my time is short. A committee are tocall in the morning to escort me to the train. I am to be dismissed fromthe community with public honors. " Watson was climbing down from thebuggy, when a small party of men were seen approaching, and big JoshGreen, followed by several other resolute-looking colored men, came upand addressed them. 

"Dr. Miller, " cried Green, "Mr. Watson, --we're lookin' fer a leader. Dew'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' woebe ter de w'ite man w'at lays ban's on us! Dere's two niggers in distown ter eve'y w'ite man, an' ef we 'we got ter be killt, we'll takesome w'ite folks 'long wid us, ez sho' ez dere's a God in heaven, --ez Is'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 backyou up. They haven't the arms, nor the moral courage, nor theleadership. "

"We'll git de arms, an' we'll git de courage, ef you'll come an' leadus! 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 noreward, and my family would be reduced to beggary, --to which they'llsoon be near enough as it is. This affair will blow over in a day ortwo. The white people will be ashamed of themselves to-morrow, andapprehensive 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, turningto the doctor. 

For Miller it was an agonizing moment. He was no coward, morally orphysically. Every manly instinct urged him to go forward and take up thecause of these leaderless people, and, if need be, to defend their livesand 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. Bymorning every train, every boat, every road leading into Wellington, would be crowded with white men, --as they probably will be anyway, --with arms in their hands, curses on their lips, and vengeance intheir hearts. In the minds of those who make and administer the laws, wehave no standing in the court of conscience. They would kill us in thefight, or they would hang us afterwards, --one way or another, we shouldbe doomed. I should like to lead you; I should like to arm every coloredman 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, --mylife would pay the forfeit. Alive, I may be of some use to you, and youare welcome to my life in that way, --I am giving it freely. Dead, Ishould be a mere lump of carrion. Who remembers even the names of thosewho have been done to death in the Southern States for the past twentyyears?"

"I 'members de name er one of 'em, " said Josh, "an' I 'members de nameer 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 areplaced as we should be in a war: we have no territory, no base ofsupplies, no organization, no outside sympathy, --we stand in theposition of a race, in a case like this, without money and withoutfriends. Our time will come, --the time when we can command respect forour rights; but it is not yet in sight. Give it up, boys, and wait. Goodmay 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 putit, I don' blame you ner Mr. Watson; but all dem reasons ain' got noweight 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 mybones!"

"Remember your old mother, Josh, " said Miller. 

"Yas, sub, I'll 'member her; dat's all I kin do now. I don' need terwait fer her no mo', fer she died dis mo'nin'. I'd lack ter see herburied, suh, but I may not have de chance. Ef I gits killt, will you dome a favor?"

"Yes, Josh; what is it?"

"Ef I should git laid out in dis commotion dat's gwine on, will youcollec' my wages f'm yo' brother, and see dat de ole 'oman is put awayright?"

"Yes, of course. "

"Wid a nice coffin, an' a nice fune'al, an' a head-bo'd an' afoot-bo'd?"

"Yes. "

"All right, suh! Ef I don' live ter do it, I'll know it'll be 'tendedter right. Now we're gwine out ter de cotton compress, an' git a lot ercolored men tergether, an' ef de w'ite folks 'sturbs me, I shouldn't bes'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 mew'at'll be 'feared er de jedgment. Come along, boys! Dese gentlemen mayhave somethin' ter live fer; but ez fer my pa't, I'd ruther be a deadnigger any day dan a live dog!"

XXXIII

INTO THE LION'S JAWS

The party under Josh's leadership moved off down the road. Miller, whileentirely convinced that he had acted wisely in declining to accompanythem, 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 hopelessstruggle. 

Watson left the buggy and disappeared by a path at the roadside. Millerdrove rapidly forward. After entering the town, he passed several smallparties of white men, but escaped scrutiny by sitting well back in hisbuggy, the presumption being that a well-dressed man with a good horseand buggy was white. Torn with anxiety, he reached home at about fouro'clock. Driving the horse into the yard, he sprang down from the buggyand hastened to the house, which he found locked, front and rear. 

A repeated rapping brought no response. At length he broke a window, andentered the house like a thief. 

"Janet, Janet!" he called in alarm, "where are you? It is onlyI, --Will!"

There was no reply. He ran from room to room, only to find them allempty. Again he called his wife's name, and was about rushing from thehouse, 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 underthe kitchen sink was opened from within, and a woolly head wascautiously 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 deniggers?"

"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' disfuss broke out, suh. Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy, suh! Is all de cullud folks be'nkillt 'cep'n' me an' you, suh? Fer de Lawd's sake, suh, you won' let 'emkill me, will you, suh? I'll wuk fer you fer nuthin', suh, all my bawndays, 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. Stayhere 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 hiswife had gone to visit was exactly one mile. Though Miller had a goodhorse 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 dreamshe repeats it night after night, and sees the sights that wounded hiseyes, and feels the thoughts--the haunting spirits of the thoughts--thattore his heart as he rode through hell to find those whom he wasseeking. 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 anegro, lying huddled up in the collapse which marks sudden death. WhatMiller shuddered at was not so much the thought of death, to the sightof which his profession had accustomed him, as the suggestion of what itsignified. He had taken with allowance the wild statement of the fleeingfugitives. Watson, too, had been greatly excited, and Josh Green's groupwere desperate men, as much liable to be misled by their courage as theothers by their fears; but here was proof that murder had beendone, --and his wife and children were in the town. Distant shouts, andthe sound of firearms, increased his alarm. He struck his horse with thewhip, and dashed on toward the heart of the city, which he must traversein order to reach Janet and the child. 

At the next corner lay the body of another man, with the red bloodoozing from a ghastly wound in the forehead. The negroes seemed to havebeen killed, as the band plays in circus parades, at the streetintersections, where the example would be most effective. Miller, with awild leap of the heart, had barely passed this gruesome spectacle, whena sharp voice commanded him to halt, and emphasized the order bycovering him with a revolver. Forgetting the prudence he had preached toothers, he had raised his whip to strike the horse, when several handsseized the bridle. 

"Come down, you damn fool, " growled an authoritative voice. "Don't yousee we're in earnest? Do you want to get killed?"

"Why should I come down?" asked Miller. "Because we've ordered you tocome down! This is the white people's day, and when they order, a niggermust obey. We're going to search you for weapons. "

"Search away. You'll find nothing but a case of surgeon's tools, whichI'm more than likely to need before this day is over, from allindications. "

"No matter; we'll make sure of it! That's what we're here for. Comedown, if you don't want to be pulled down!"

Miller stepped down from his buggy. His interlocutor, who made no effortat disguise, was a clerk in a dry-goods store where Miller bought mostof his family and hospital supplies. He made no sign of recognition, however, and Miller claimed no acquaintance. This man, who had forseveral years emptied Miller's pockets in the course of more or lesslegitimate trade, now went through them, aided by another man, morerapidly than ever before, the searchers convincing themselves thatMiller carried no deadly weapon upon his person. Meanwhile, a thirdransacked the buggy with like result. Miller recognized several othersof the party, who made not the slightest attempt at disguise, though nonames 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 thistown, which from now on will be a white man's town, as you niggers willbe pretty firmly convinced before night. "

Miller drove on as swiftly as might be. At the next corner he wasstopped again. In the white man who held him up, Miller recognized aneighbor 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. Itain't men like you that we're after, but the vicious and criminal classof niggers. "

Miller smiled bitterly as he urged his horse forward. He was quite wellaware that the virtuous citizen who had stopped him had only a few weeksbefore finished a term in the penitentiary, to which he had beensentenced for stealing. Miller knew that he could have bought all theman 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 woundedman who lay groaning by the wayside. Every professional instinct urgedhim to stop and offer aid to the sufferer; but the uncertaintyconcerning his wife and child proved a stronger motive and urged himresistlessly forward. Here and there the ominous sound of firearms wasaudible. He might have thought this merely a part of the show, like the"powder play" of the Arabs, but for the bloody confirmation of itsearnestness which had already assailed his vision. Somewhere in thisseething caldron of unrestrained passions were his wife and child, andhe must hurry on. 

His progress was painfully slow. Three times he was stopped andsearched. More than once his way was barred, and he was ordered to turnback, each such occasion requiring a detour which consumed many minutes. The man who last stopped him was a well-known Jewish merchant. AJew--God of Moses!--had so far forgotten twenty centuries of history asto join in the persecution of another oppressed race! When almostreduced to despair by these innumerable delays, he perceived, comingtoward him, Mr. Ellis, the sub-editor of the Morning Chronicle. Millerhad just been stopped and questioned again, and Ellis came up as he wasstarting once more upon his endless ride. 

"Dr. Miller, " said Ellis kindly, "it is dangerous for you on thestreets. 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 findthem. "

Ellis had been horror-stricken by the tragedy of the afternoon, thewholly superfluous slaughter of a harmless people, whom a show of forcewould have been quite sufficient to overawe. Elaborate explanations wereafterwards given for these murders, which were said, perhaps truthfully, not to have been premeditated, and many regrets were expressed. Theyoung man had been surprised, quite as much as the negroes themselves, at the ferocity displayed. His own thoughts and feelings were attuned toanything but slaughter. Only that morning he had received a perfumednote, calling his attention to what the writer described as a very nobledeed of his, and requesting him to call that evening and receive thewriter's thanks. Had he known that Miss Pemberton, several weeks aftertheir visit to the Sound, had driven out again to the hotel and madesome inquiries among the servants, he might have understood better themeaning of this missive. When Miller spoke of his wife and child, somesubtle 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 mycompany 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 withgrief, even had the welfare of his own dear ones not been involved inthis regrettable affair. With prophetic instinct he foresaw the hatredsto which this day would give birth; the long years of constraint anddistrust which would still further widen the breach between two peopleswhom fate had thrown together in one community. 

There was nothing for Ellis to say. In his heart he could not defend thedeeds of this day. The petty annoyances which the whites had felt at thespectacle of a few negroes in office; the not unnatural resentment of aproud people at what had seemed to them a presumptuous freedom of speechand lack of deference on the part of their inferiors, --these things, which he knew were to be made the excuse for overturning the citygovernment, he realized full well were no sort of justification for thewholesale murder or other horrors which might well ensue before the daywas done. He could not approve the acts of his own people; neither couldhe, to a negro, condemn them. Hence he was silent. 

"Thank you, Mr. Ellis, " exclaimed Miller, when they had reached thehouse where he expected to find his wife. "This is the place where I wasgoing. I am--under a great obligation to you. "

"Not at all, Dr. Miller. I need not tell you how much I regret thisdeplorable affair. "

Ellis went back down the street. Fastening his horse to the fence, Miller sprang forward to find his wife and child. They would certainlybe there, for no colored woman would be foolhardy enough to venture onthe streets after the riot had broken out. 

As he drew nearer, he felt a sudden apprehension. The house seemedstrangely silent and deserted. The doors were closed, and the Venetianblinds shut tightly. Even a dog which had appeared slunk timidly backunder the house, instead of barking vociferously according to the usualhabit of his kind. 

XXXIV

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

Miller knocked at the door. There was no response. He went round to therear of the house. The dog had slunk behind the woodpile. Miller knockedagain, 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 shootingcommenced, 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 shedid not expect to be molested. "

"Which way did she go?"

"She meant to go by the main street. She thought it would be lessdangerous than the back streets. I tried to get her to stay here, butshe was frantic about you, and nothing I could say would keep her. Isthe 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 Ilose my own life in the attempt. "

Surely, he thought, Janet would be safe. The white people of Wellingtonwere not savages; or at least their temporary reversion to savagerywould not go as far as to include violence to delicate women andchildren. 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, asthe result of one night's terror, and his heart sank within him. 

Miller realized that his buggy, by attracting attention, had been ahindrance rather than a help in his progress across the city. In orderto follow his wife, he must practically retrace his steps over the veryroute he had come. Night was falling. It would be easier to cross thetown on foot. In the dusk his own color, slight in the daytime, wouldnot attract attention, and by dodging in the shadows he might avoidthose who might wish to intercept him. But he must reach Janet and theboy at any risk. He had not been willing to throw his life awayhopelessly, but he would cheerfully have sacrificed it for those whom heloved. 

He had gone but a short distance, and had not yet reached the centre ofmob activity, when he intercepted a band of negro laborers from thecotton 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 thisden 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 tocertain death. "

"Well, suh, maybe we is; but we're gwine ter die fightin'. Dey say dew'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' newhospittle, ef somebody don' stop 'em. "

"Josh--men--you are throwing your lives away. It is a fever; it willwear off to-morrow, or to-night. They'll not burn the schoolhouses, northe hospital--they are not such fools, for they benefit the community;and they'll only kill the colored people who resist them. Every one ofyou 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 toolong. "

"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 denewspapers, --an' we're tired er bein' shot down like dogs, widout jedgeer 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 'boutde ole 'oman, ef you lives thoo dis. Don' fergit de headbo'd an' defootbo'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; hethought it extremely unlikely that they would begin it; but he knewperfectly well that the mere knowledge that some of the negroescontemplated resistance would only further inflame the infuriatedwhites. The colored men might win a momentary victory, though it wasextremely doubtful; and they would as surely reap the harvest later on. The qualities which in a white man would win the applause of the worldwould in a negro be taken as the marks of savagery. So thoroughlydiseased was public opinion in matters of race that the negro who diedfor the common rights of humanity might look for no meed of admirationor glory. At such a time, in the white man's eyes, a negro's couragewould be mere desperation; his love of liberty, a mere animal dislike ofrestraint. Every finer human instinct would be interpreted in terms ofsavagery. Or, if forced to admire, they would none the less repress. They would applaud his courage while they stretched his neck, or carriedoff the fragments of his mangled body as souvenirs, in much the same waythat savages preserve the scalps or eat the hearts of their enemies. 

But concern for the fate of Josh and his friends occupied only asecondary place in Miller's mind for the moment. His wife and child weresomewhere ahead of him. He pushed on. He had covered about a quarter ofa mile more, and far down the street could see the signs of greateranimation, when he came upon the body of a woman lying upon thesidewalk. In the dusk he had almost stumbled over it, and his heart cameup 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 JaneLetlow. 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 alast lingering flicker of consciousness:--

"Comin', missis, comin'!"

Mammy Jane had gone to join the old mistress upon whose memory herheart was fixed; and yet not all her reverence for her old mistress, norall her deference to the whites, nor all their friendship for her, hadbeen able to save her from this raging devil of race hatred whichmomentarily possessed the town. 

Perceiving that he could do no good, Miller hastened onward, sick atheart. Whenever he saw a party of white men approaching, --these bravereformers never went singly, --he sought concealment in the shadow of atree or the shrubbery in some yard until they had passed. He had coveredabout two thirds of the distance homeward, when his eyes fell upon agroup 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 culminationof the conspiracy formed by Carteret and his colleagues--had by seveno'clock in the afternoon developed into a murderous riot. Crowds ofwhite men and half-grown boys, drunk with whiskey or with license, ragedthrough the streets, beating, chasing, or killing any negro sounfortunate as to fall into their hands. Why any particular negro wasassailed, no one stopped to inquire; it was merely a white mob thirstingfor black blood, with no more conscience or discrimination than would beexercised by a wolf in a sheepfold. It was race against race, the whitesagainst the negroes; and it was a one-sided affair, for until Josh Greengot together his body of armed men, no effective resistance had beenmade by any colored person, and the individuals who had been killed hadso 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 downthe street and along the intersecting thoroughfares distant voices tookup 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 negroquarter. Armed with guns and axes, they presented quite a formidableappearance as they made their way toward the new hospital, near whichstood a schoolhouse and a large church, both used by the colored people. They did not reach their destination without having met a number ofwhite men, singly or in twos or threes; and the rumor spread withincredible swiftness that the negroes in turn were up in arms, determined to massacre all the whites and burn the town. Some of thewhites became alarmed, and recognizing the power of the negroes, ifarmed and conscious of their strength, were impressed by the immediatenecessity of overpowering and overawing them. Others, with appetitesalready whetted by slaughter, saw a chance, welcome rather than not, ofshedding more black blood. Spontaneously the white mob flocked towardthe 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 theneighborhood of the little group of public institutions, molesting noone, unless first attacked, and merely letting the white people see thatthey 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 hissupporters had reached the top of the rising ground where the hospitalstood, a crowd of white men much more numerous than their own party werefollowing them at a short distance. 

Josh, with the eye of a general, perceived that some of his party werebecoming a little nervous, and decided that they would feel safer behindshelter. 

"I reckon we better go inside de hospittle, boys, " he exclaimed. "Denwe'll be behind brick walls, an' dem other fellows 'll be outside, an' efdere's any fightin', we'll have de bes' show. We ain' gwine ter do noshootin' till we're pestered, an' dey'll be less likely ter pester usef 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 desegwines-on, an' meantime we kin keep dem white devils f'm bu'nin' downour hospittles an' chu'ch-houses. Wen dey comes an' fin's out dat wejes' means ter pertect ou' prope'ty, dey'll go 'long 'bout deir ownbusiness. 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 muchafraid. The events of the day had filled him with terror. Whatever thelimitations of Jerry's mind or character may have been, Jerry had a keenappreciation of the danger to the negroes when they came in conflictwith the whites, and he had no desire to imperil his own skin. He valuedhis life for his own sake, and not for any altruistic theory that itmight be of service to others. In other words, Jerry was something of acoward. He had kept in hiding all day, but finding, toward evening, thatthe riot did not abate, and fearing, from the rumors which came to hisears, that all the negroes would be exterminated, he had set out, somewhat desperately, to try to find his white patron and protector. Hehad been cautious to avoid meeting any white men, and, anticipating nodanger from those of his own race, went toward the party which he sawapproaching, whose path would cross his own. When they were only a fewyards 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'itefolks ain' gwine ter pester me; dey're my frien's. Tu'n me loose, --tu'nme loose, er we all gwine ter git killed!"

The party paid no attention to Jerry's protestations. Indeed, with thecrowd of whites following behind, they were simply considering thequestion of a position from which they could most effectively defendthemselves and the building which they imagined to be threatened. IfJosh had released his grip of Jerry, that worthy could easily haveescaped from the crowd; but Josh maintained his hold almostmechanically, and, in the confusion, Jerry found himself swept with therest into the hospital, the doors of which were promptly barricaded withthe heavier pieces of furniture, and the windows manned by several meneach, Josh, with the instinct of a born commander, posting his forces sothat they could cover with their guns all the approaches to thebuilding. Jerry still continuing to make himself troublesome, Josh, in amoment of impatience, gave him a terrific box on the ear, whichstretched him out upon the floor unconscious. 

"Shet up, " he said; "ef you can't stan' up like a man, keep still, anddon't interfere wid men w'at will fight!" The hospital, when Josh andhis men took possession, had been found deserted. Fortunately there wereno patients for that day, except one or two convalescents, and these, with the attendants, had joined the exodus of the colored people fromthe town. 

A white man advanced from the crowd without toward the main entrance tothe hospital. Big Josh, looking out from a window, grasped his gun morefirmly, as his eyes fell upon the man who had murdered his father anddarkened his mother's life. Mechanically he raised his rifle, butlowered it as the white man lifted up his hand as a sign that he wishedto speak. 

"You niggers, " called Captain McBane loudly, --it was that worthy, --"youniggers are courtin' death, an' you won't have to court her but a minuteer two mo' befo' she'll have you. If you surrender and give up yourarms, you'll be dealt with leniently, --you may get off with thechain-gang or the penitentiary. If you resist, you'll be shot likedogs. "

"Dat's no news, Mr. White Man, " replied Josh, appearing boldly at thewindow. "We're use' ter bein' treated like dogs by men like you. If youw'ite people will go 'long an' ten' ter yo' own business an' let usalone, we'll ten' ter ou'n. You've got guns, an' we've got jest asmuch right ter carry 'em as you have. Lay down yo'n, an' we'll lay downou'n, --we didn' take 'em up fust; but we ain' gwine ter let you bu'ndown 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 usdown er sen' us ter jail. You hear me!"

"All right, " responded McBane. "You've had fair warning. Your blood beon your"--His speech was interrupted by a shot from the crowd, whichsplintered the window-casing close to Josh's head. This was followed byhalf a dozen other shots, which were replied to, almost simultaneously, by a volley from within, by which one of the attacking party was killedand 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 neitherexcuse, justification, nor extenuation. From time immemorial it had beenbred in the Southern white consciousness, and in the negro consciousnessalso, for that matter, that the person of a white man was sacred fromthe touch of a negro, no matter what the provocation. A dozen coloredmen lay dead in the streets of Wellington, inoffensive people, slain incold blood because they had been bold enough to question the authorityof those who had assailed them, or frightened enough to flee when theyhad been ordered to stand still; but their lives counted nothing againstthat of a riotous white man, who had courted death by attacking a bodyof armed men. 

The crowd, too, surrounding the hospital, had changed somewhat incharacter. The men who had acted as leaders in the early afternoon, having accomplished their purpose of overturning the localadministration and establishing a provisional government of their own, had withdrawn from active participation in the rioting, deeming thenegroes already sufficiently overawed to render unlikely any furthertrouble from that source. Several of the ringleaders had indeed begun toexert themselves to prevent further disorder, or any loss of property, the possibility of which had become apparent; but those who set inmotion the forces of evil cannot always control them afterwards. Thebaser element of the white population, recruited from the wharves andthe saloons, was now predominant. 

Captain McBane was the only one of the revolutionary committee who hadremained with the mob, not with any purpose to restore or preserveorder, but because he found the company and the occasion entirelycongenial. He had had no opportunity, at least no tenable excuse, tokill or maim a negro since the termination of his contract with thestate for convicts, and this occasion had awakened a dormant appetitefor these diversions. We are all puppets in the hands of Fate, andseldom see the strings that move us. McBane had lived a life of violenceand cruelty. As a man sows, so shall he reap. In works of fiction, suchmen are sometimes converted. More often, in real life, they do notchange their natures until they are converted into dust. One does wellto distrust a tamed tiger. 

On the outskirts of the crowd a few of the better class, or at least ofthe better clad, were looking on. The double volley described hadalready been fired, when the number of these was augmented by thearrival of Major Carteret and Mr. Ellis, who had just come from theChronicle office, where the next day's paper had been in hastypreparation. They pushed their way towards the front of the crowd. 

"This must be stopped, Ellis, " said Carteret. "They are burning housesand killing women and children. Old Jane, good old Mammy Jane, whonursed my wife at her bosom, and has waited on her and my child withina few weeks, was killed only a few rods from my house, to which she wasevidently fleeing for protection. It must have been by accident, --Icannot believe that any white man in town would be dastard enough tocommit such a deed intentionally! I would have defended her with my ownlife! We must try to stop this thing!"

"Easier said than done, " returned Ellis. "It is in the fever stage, andmust burn itself out. We shall be lucky if it does not burn the townout. Suppose the negroes should also take a hand at the burning? We haveadvised the people to put the negroes down, and they are doing the jobthoroughly. "

"My God!" replied the other, with a gesture of impatience, as hecontinued to elbow his way through the crowd; "I meant to keep them intheir places, --I did not intend wholesale murder and arson. "

Carteret, having reached the front of the mob, made an effort to gaintheir 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, drownedhis voice. 

"Gentlemen!" he shouted; "this is murder, it is madness; it is adisgrace to our city, to our state, to our civilization!"

"That's right!" replied several voices. The mob had recognized thespeaker. "It _is_ a disgrace, and we'll not put up with it a momentlonger. Burn 'em out! Hurrah for Major Carteret, the champion of 'whitesupremacy'! Three cheers for the Morning Chronicle and 'no niggerdomination'!"

"Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" yelled the crowd. 

In vain the baffled orator gesticulated and shrieked in the effort tocorrect the misapprehension. Their oracle had spoken; not hearing whathe said, they assumed it to mean encouragement and coöperation. Theirpresent course was but the logical outcome of the crusade which theMorning Chronicle had preached, in season and out of season, for manymonths. When Carteret had spoken, and the crowd had cheered him, theyfelt that they had done all that courtesy required, and he wasgood-naturedly elbowed aside while they proceeded with the work in hand, which was now to drive out the negroes from the hospital and avenge thekilling of their comrade. 

Some brought hay, some kerosene, and others wood from a pile which hadbeen thrown into a vacant lot near by. Several safe ways of approach tothe building were discovered, and the combustibles placed and fired. Theflames, soon gaining a foothold, leaped upward, catching here and thereat the exposed woodwork, and licking the walls hungrily with longtongues of flame. 

Meanwhile a desultory firing was kept up from the outside, which wasreplied to scatteringly from within the hospital. Those inside wereeither not good marksmen, or excitement had spoiled their aim. If a faceappeared at a window, a dozen pistol shots from the crowd sought thespot immediately. 

Higher and higher leaped the flames. Suddenly from one of the windowssprang 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 safevantage-ground he had scanned the crowd without, in search of somewhite friend. When he saw Major Carteret moving disconsolately awayafter his futile effort to stem the torrent, Jerry made a dash for thewindow. He sprang forth, and, waving his handkerchief as a flag oftruce, ran toward Major Carteret, shouting frantically:--

"Majah Carteret--_O_ majah! It's me, suh, Jerry, suh! I didn' go indere myse'f, suh--I wuz drag' in dere! I wouldn' do nothin' 'g'inst dew'ite folks, suh, --no, 'ndeed, I wouldn', suh!"

Jerry's cries were drowned in a roar of rage and a volley of shots fromthe mob. Carteret, who had turned away with Ellis, did not even hear hisservant's voice. Jerry's poor flag of truce, his explanations, hisreliance upon his white friends, all failed him in the moment of supremeneed. In that hour, as in any hour when the depths of race hatred arestirred, a negro was no more than a brute beast, set upon by other brutebeasts whose only instinct was to kill and destroy. 

"Let us leave this inferno, Ellis, " said Carteret, sick with anger anddisgust. He had just become aware that a negro was being killed, thoughhe did not know whom. "We can do nothing. The negroes have themselves toblame, --they tempted us beyond endurance. I counseled firmness, and firmmeasures were taken, and our purpose was accomplished. I am notresponsible for these subsequent horrors, --I wash my hands of them. Letus go!"

The flames gained headway and gradually enveloped the burning building, until it became evident to those within as well as those without thatthe position of the defenders was no longer tenable. Would they die inthe flames, or would they be driven out? The uncertainty soon came to anend. 

The besieged had been willing to fight, so long as there seemed a hopeof successfully defending themselves and their property; for theirpurpose was purely one of defense. When they saw the case was hopeless, inspired by Josh Green's reckless courage, they were still willing tosell their lives dearly. One or two of them had already been killed, andas many more disabled. The fate of Jerry Letlow had struck terror to thehearts of several others, who could scarcely hide their fear. After thebuilding had been fired, Josh's exhortations were no longer able to keepthem 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 youhave done, --the day has gone 'g'inst us. We kin see ou' finish; but fermy 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'nwaitin' 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 starteddis fuss!"

The door was thrown open suddenly, and through it rushed a dozen or moreblack figures, armed with knives, pistols, or clubbed muskets. Taken bysudden surprise, the white people stood motionless for a moment, but theapproaching negroes had scarcely covered half the distance to which theheat of the flames had driven back the mob, before they were greetedwith a volley that laid them all low but two. One of these, dazed bythe fate of his companions, turned instinctively to flee, but hadscarcely faced around before he fell, pierced in the back by a dozenbullets. 

Josh Green, the tallest and biggest of them all, had not apparently beentouched. Some of the crowd paused in involuntary admiration of thisblack giant, famed on the wharves for his strength, sweeping down uponthem, a smile upon his face, his eyes lit up with a rapt expressionwhich seemed to take him out of mortal ken. This impression washeightened by his apparent immunity from the shower of lead which lesssusceptible persons had continued to pour at him. 

Armed with a huge bowie-knife, a relic of the civil war, which he hadcarried on his person for many years for a definite purpose, and whichhe 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 oflead which fell around him, reached the point where Captain McBane, thebravest man in the party, stood waiting to meet him. A pistol-flameflashed 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 crowddashed forward to wreak vengeance on his dead body, they found him witha 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 deathwas merciful, compared with the nameless horrors he had heaped upon thehundreds of helpless mortals who had fallen into his hands during hiscareer as a contractor of convict labor. 

Sobered by this culminating tragedy, the mob shortly afterwardsdispersed. The flames soon completed their work, and this handsomestructure, the fruit of old Adam Miller's industry, the monument of hisson's philanthropy, a promise of good things for the future of the city, lay smouldering in ruins, a melancholy witness to the fact that ourboasted civilization is but a thin veneer, which cracks and scales offat the first impact of primal passions. 

XXXVI

FIAT JUSTITIA

By the light of the burning building, which illuminated the street forseveral blocks, Major Carteret and Ellis made their way rapidly untilthey turned into the street where the major lived. Reaching the house, Carteret tried the door and found it locked. A vigorous ring at the bellbrought no immediate response. Carteret had begun to pound impatientlyupon the door, when it was cautiously opened by Miss Pemberton, who waspale, and trembled with excitement. 

"Where is Olivia?" asked the major. 

"She is upstairs, with Dodie and Mrs. Albright's hospital nurse. Dodiehas the croup. Virgie ran away after the riot broke out. Sister Oliviahad sent for Mammy Jane, but she did not come. Mrs. Albright let herwhite 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 handsextended, "can nothing be done to stop this terrible affair?"

"I wish I could do something, " he murmured fervently, taking both hertrembling hands in his own broad palms, where they rested with asurrendering trustfulness which he has never since had occasion todoubt. "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 thresholdof the nursery. 

"Dodie is ill, " she said. "At three o'clock, when the trouble began, Iwas over at Mrs. Albright's, --I had left Virgie with the baby. When Icame back, she and all the other servants had gone. They had heard thatthe white people were going to kill all the negroes, and fled to seeksafety. I found Dodie lying in a draught, before an open window, gaspingfor breath. I ran back to Mrs. Albright's, --I had found her much betterto-day, --and she let her nurse come over. The nurse says that Dodie isthreatened with membranous croup. "

"Have you sent for Dr. Price?"

"There was no one to send, --the servants were gone, and the nurse wasafraid to venture out into the street. I telephoned for Dr. Price, andfound that he was out of town; that he had gone up the river thismorning 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 townto-day, and had preferred to be where he could not be called upon toassume any responsibility. "

"I suppose you tried Dr. Ashe?"

"I could not get him, nor any one else, after that first call. Thetelephone service is disorganized on account of the riot. We needmedicine 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 waslying, --his only child, around whose curly head clustered all his hopes;upon whom all his life for the past year had been centred. He stoopedover the bed, beside which the nurse had stationed herself. She waswiping the child's face, which was red and swollen and covered withmoisture, the nostrils working rapidly, and the little patient vainlyendeavoring at intervals to cough up the obstruction to his breathing. 

"Is it serious?" he inquired anxiously. He had always thought of thecroup 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 toosoon. If a doctor isn't got at once, the child will die, --and it mustbe 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 everyminute. 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 awhile. 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 incase I'm not on hand by twelve. We must get the paper out early in themorning. "

Nothing but a matter of the most vital importance would have kept MajorCarteret away from his office this night. Upon the presentation to theouter world of the story of this riot would depend the attitude of thegreat civilized public toward the events of the last ten hours. TheChronicle was the source from which the first word would be expected; itwould give the people of Wellington their cue as to the position whichthey must take in regard to this distressful affair, which had so fartranscended in ferocity the most extreme measures which the conspiratorshad anticipated. The burden of his own responsibility weighed heavilyupon him, and could not be shaken off; but he must do first the dutynearest to him, --he must first attend to his child. 

Carteret hastened from the house, and traversed rapidly the shortdistance to Dr. Ashe's office. Far down the street he could see the glowof the burning hospital, and he had scarcely left his own house when thefusillade of shots, fired when the colored men emerged from the burningbuilding, was audible. Carteret would have hastened back to the scene ofthe riot, to see what was now going on, and to make another effort tostem the tide of bloodshed; but before the dread of losing his child, all other interests fell into the background. Not all the negroes inWellington could weigh in the balance for one instant against the lifeof the feeble child now gasping for breath in the house behind him. 

Reaching the house, a vigorous ring brought the doctor's wife to thedoor. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Ashe. Is the doctor at home?"

"No, Major Carteret. He was called to attend Mrs. Wells, who was takensuddenly ill, as a result of the trouble this afternoon. He will bethere 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 frightenedby the shooting on the streets, and ran away and threw the doctor, andbroke his right arm. I have just set it; he will not be able to attendany patients for several weeks. He is old and nervous, and the shock wasgreat. "

"Are you not a physician?" asked Carteret, looking at the young mankeenly. He was a serious, gentlemanly looking young fellow, whose wordmight probably be trusted. 

"Yes, I am Dr. Evans, Dr. Yates's assistant. I'm really little morethan a student, but I'll do what I can. "

"My only child is sick with the croup, and requires immediateattention. "

"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 anotherphysician comes. "

He stepped back into another room, and returning immediately with hishat, accompanied Carteret homeward. The riot had subsided; even the glowfrom the smouldering hospital was no longer visible. It seemed that thecity, appalled at the tragedy, had suddenly awakened to a sense of itsown crime. Here and there a dark face, emerging cautiously from somehiding-place, peered from behind fence or tree, but shrank hastily awayat the sight of a white face. The negroes of Wellington, with theexception of Josh Green and his party, had not behaved bravely on thiscritical day in their history; but those who had fought were dead, tothe last man; those who had sought safety in flight or concealment werealive to tell the tale. 

"We pass right by Dr. Thompson's, " said Dr. Evans. "If you haven'tspoken to him, it might be well to call him for consultation, in casethe 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 uponthe doctor's door. A gray-haired negro servant, clad in a dress suit andwearing a white tie, came to the door. 

"De doctuh, suh, " he replied politely to Carteret's question, "has goneter ampitate de ahm er a gent'eman who got one er his bones smashed wida 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 availablephysician. Perhaps no other would be needed, but if so, he could findout from Evans whom it was best to call. 

When he reached the child's room, the young doctor was bending anxiouslyover the little frame. The little lips had become livid, the littlenails, lying against the white sheet, were blue. The child's efforts tobreathe were most distressing, and each gasp cut the father like aknife. Mrs. Carteret was weeping hysterically. "How is he, doctor?"asked the major. 

"He is very low, " replied the young man. "Nothing short oftracheotomy--an operation to open the windpipe--will relieve him. Without it, in half or three quarters of an hour he will be unable tobreathe. It is a delicate operation, a mistake in which would be asfatal as the disease. I have neither the knowledge nor the experience toattempt it, and your child's life is too valuable for a student topractice upon. Neither have I the instruments here. "

"What shall we do?" demanded Carteret. "We have called all the bestdoctors, and none are available. "

The young doctor's brow was wrinkled with thought. He knew a doctor whocould perform the operation. He had heard, also, of a certain event atCarteret's house some months before, when an unwelcome physician hadbeen 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 gethim, 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 hishouse, came up vividly before his memory. He had acted in accordancewith his lifelong beliefs, and had carried his point; but the presentsituation was different, --this was a case of imperative necessity, andevery other interest or consideration must give way before the imminenceof his child's peril. That the doctor would refuse the call, he did notimagine: it would be too great an honor for a negro to decline, --unlesssome bitterness might have grown out of the proceedings of theafternoon. That this doctor was a man of some education he knew; and hehad been told that he was a man of fine feeling, --for a negro, --andmight easily have taken to heart the day's events. Nevertheless, hecould hardly refuse a professional call, --professional ethics wouldrequire him to respond. Carteret had no reason to suppose that Millerhad ever learned of what had occurred at the house during Dr. Burns'svisit to Wellington. The major himself had never mentioned thecontroversy, and no doubt the other gentlemen had been equally silent. 

"I'll go for him myself, " said Dr. Evans, noting Carteret's hesitationand suspecting its cause. "I can do nothing here alone, for a littlewhile, and I may be able to bring the doctor back with me. He likes adifficult operation. "

 * * * * *

It seemed an age ere the young doctor returned, though it was reallyonly a few minutes. The nurse did what she could to relieve the child'ssufferings, which grew visibly more and more acute. The mother, upon theother side of the bed, held one of the baby's hands in her own, andcontrolled her feelings as best she might. Carteret paced the flooranxiously, going every few seconds to the head of the stairs to listenfor Evans's footsteps on the piazza without. At last the welcome soundwas audible, and a few strides took him to the door. 

"Dr. Miller is at home, sir, " reported Evans, as he came in. "He saysthat he was called to your house once before, by a third person whoclaimed authority to act, and that he was refused admittance. Hedeclares that he will not consider such a call unless it come from youpersonally. "

"That is true, quite true, " replied Carteret. "His position is a justone. I will go at once. Will--will--my child live until I can get Millerhere?"

"He can live for half an hour without an operation. Beyond that I couldgive you little hope. "

Seizing his hat, Carteret dashed out of the yard and ran rapidly toMiller's house; ordinarily a walk of six or seven minutes, Carteretcovered it in three, and was almost out of breath when he rang the bellof 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 onlyavailable 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 notcounted on professional jealousy as an obstacle to be met. "But I _have_come to you, as a physician, to engage your professional services for mychild, --my only child. I have confidence in your skill, or I should nothave 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, andyou can save it!"

"Ah!" replied the other, "as a father whose only child's life is indanger, 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 struckCarteret, in spite of his own pre-occupation. He thought he heard, too, from the adjoining room, the sound of some one sobbing softly. There wassome mystery here which he could not fathom unaided. 

Miller turned to the door behind him and threw it open. On the whitecover of a low cot lay a childish form in the rigidity of death, and byit knelt, with her back to the door, a woman whose shoulders were shakenby the violence of her sobs. Absorbed in her grief, she did not turn, orgive any sign that she had recognized the intrusion. 

"There, Major Carteret!" exclaimed Miller, with the tragic eloquence ofdespair, "there lies a specimen of your handiwork! There lies _my_ onlychild, laid low by a stray bullet in this riot which you and your paperhave fomented; struck down as much by your hand as though you had heldthe 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 liesdead, his little life snuffed out like a candle, because you and ahandful of your friends thought you must override the laws and run thistown at any cost!--and there kneels his mother, overcome by grief. Weare alone in the house. It is not safe to leave her unattended. My dutycalls me here, by the side of my dead child and my suffering wife! Icannot go with you. There is a just God in heaven!--as you have sown, somay you reap!"

Carteret possessed a narrow, but a logical mind, and except whenconfused or blinded by his prejudices, had always tried to be a justman. In the agony of his own predicament, --in the horror of thesituation at Miller's house, --for a moment the veil of race prejudicewas rent in twain, and he saw things as they were, in their correctproportions and relations, --saw clearly and convincingly that he had nostanding here, in the presence of death, in the home of this strickenfamily. Miller's refusal to go with him was pure, elemental justice; hecould not blame the doctor for his stand. He was indeed conscious of acertain involuntary admiration for a man who held in his hands the powerof life and death, and could use it, with strict justice, to avenge hisown 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 couldnot expect, could not ask, this father to leave his own household atsuch a moment. 

Pressing his lips together with grim courage, and bowing mechanically, as though to Fate rather than the physician, Carteret turned and leftthe house. At a rapid pace he soon reached home. There was yet a chancefor his child: perhaps some one of the other doctors had come; perhaps, after all, the disease had taken a favorable turn, --Evans was but ayoung doctor, and might have been mistaken. Surely, with doctors allaround him, his child would not be permitted to die for lack of medicalattention! 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 onprobably for twenty minutes longer without an operation. "

"Where is the doctor?" demanded Mrs. Carteret, looking eagerly towardthe door. "You should have brought him right upstairs. There's not aminute to spare! Phil, Phil, our child will die!"

Carteret's heart swelled almost to bursting with an intense pity. Evenhis own great sorrow became of secondary importance beside the griefwhich 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 herand 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 himagain. 

Young Evans felt the logic of the situation, which Carteret hadexplained sufficiently. To the nurse it was even clearer. If she or anyother woman had been in the doctor's place, she would have given thesame answer. 

Mrs. Carteret did not stop to reason. In such a crisis a mother's heartusurps the place of intellect. For her, at that moment, there were buttwo facts in all the world. Her child lay dying. There was within thetown, and within reach, a man who could save him. With an agonized cryshe rushed wildly from the room. 

Carteret sought to follow her, but she flew down the long stairs like awild thing. The least misstep might have precipitated her to the bottom;but ere Carteret, with a remonstrance on his lips, had scarcely reachedthe uppermost step, she had thrown open the front door and fledprecipitately out into the night. 

XXXVII

THE SISTERS

Miller's doorbell rang loudly, insistently, as though demanding aresponse. Absorbed in his own grief, into which he had relapsed uponCarteret's departure, the sound was an unwelcome intrusion. Surely theman could not be coming back! If it were some one else--What else mighthappen to the doomed town concerned him not. His child was dead, --hisdistracted wife could not be left alone. 

The doorbell rang--clamorously--appealingly. Through the long hall andthe closed door of the room where he sat, he could hear some oneknocking, 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 Millerrose and went to the door, which he opened mechanically. 

A lady stood there, so near the image of his own wife, whom he had justleft, that for a moment he was well-nigh startled. A little older, perhaps, a little fairer of complexion, but with the same form, the samefeatures, marked by the same wild grief. She wore a loose wrapper, whichclothed her like the drapery of a statue. Her long dark hair, thecounterpart of his wife's, had fallen down, and hung disheveled abouther shoulders. There was blood upon her knuckles, where she had beatenwith them upon the door. "Dr. Miller, " she panted, breathless from herflight and laying her hand upon his arm appealingly, --when he shrankfrom the contact she still held it there, --"Dr. Miller, you will comeand save my child? You know what it is to lose a child! I am so sorryabout 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. Whyshould I save your husband's child?"

"Ah, Dr. Miller!" she cried, with his wife's voice, --she never knew howmuch, 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 onlychild. I brought it into the world at the risk of my own life! I havenursed it, I have watched over it, I have prayed for it, --and it nowlies dying! Oh, Dr. Miller, dear Dr. Miller, if you have a heart, comeand save my child!"

"Madam, " he answered more gently, moved in spite of himself, "my heartis 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 criedwildly. "His blood be on your head, and a mother's curse beside!"

The next moment, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, she had thrownherself at his feet, --at the feet of a negro, this proud whitewoman, --and was clasping his knees wildly. 

"O God!" she prayed, in tones which quivered with anguish, "pardon myhusband's sins, and my own, and move this man's hard heart, by the bloodof thy Son, who died to save us all!"

It was the last appeal of poor humanity. When the pride of intellect andcaste is broken; when we grovel in the dust of humiliation; whensickness and sorrow come, and the shadow of death falls upon us, andthere is no hope elsewhere, --we turn to God, who sometimes swallows theinsult, and answers the appeal. 

Miller raised the lady to her feet. He had been deeply moved, --but hehad been more deeply injured. This was his wife's sister, --ah, yes! buta sister who had scorned and slighted and ignored the existence of hiswife for all her life. Only Miller, of all the world, could have guessedwhat this had meant to Janet, and he had merely divined it through theclairvoyant sympathy of love. This woman could have no claim upon himbecause of this unacknowledged relationship. Yet, after all, she was hiswife'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 theadjoining room, his mother by his side. Go in there, and make yourrequest of her. I will abide by her decision. "

The two women stood confronting each other across the body of the deadchild, mute witness of this first meeting between two children of thesame father. Standing thus face to face, each under the stress of thedeepest emotions, the resemblance between them was even more strikingthan it had seemed to Miller when he had admitted Mrs. Carteret to thehouse. But Death, the great leveler, striking upon the one hand andthreatening upon the other, had wrought a marvelous transformation inthe bearing of the two women. The sad-eyed Janet towered erect, withmenacing aspect, like an avenging goddess. The other, whose pride hadbeen her life, stood in the attitude of a trembling suppliant. 

"_You_ have come here, " cried Janet, pointing with a tragic gesture tothe dead child, --"_you_, to gloat over your husband's work. All my lifeyou have hated and scorned and despised me. Your presence here insultsme and my dead. What are you doing here?"

"Mrs. Miller, " returned Mrs. Carteret tremulously, dazed for a moment bythis outburst, and clasping her hands with an imploring gesture, "mychild, my only child, is dying, and your husband alone can save hislife. Ah, let me have my child, " she moaned, heart-rendingly. "It is myonly one--my sweet child--my ewe lamb!"

"This was _my_ only child!" replied the other mother; "and yours is nobetter to die than mine!"

"You are young, " said Mrs. Carteret, "and may yet have manychildren, --this is my only hope! If you have a human heart, tell yourhusband to come with me. He leaves it to you; he will do as youcommand. "

"Ah, " cried Janet, "I have a human heart, and therefore I will not lethim go. _My_ child is dead--O God, my child, my child!"

She threw herself down by the bedside, sobbing hysterically. The otherwoman knelt beside her, and put her arm about her neck. For a momentJanet, absorbed in her grief, did not repulse her. "Listen, " pleadedMrs. Carteret. "You will not let my baby die? You are my sister;--thechild is your own near kin!"

"My child was nearer, " returned Janet, rising again to her feet andshaking off the other woman's arm. "He was my son, and I have seen himdie. I have been your sister for twenty-five years, and you have onlynow, for the first time, called me so!"

"Listen--sister, " returned Mrs. Carteret. Was there no way to move thiswoman? Her child lay dying, if he were not dead already. She would telleverything, and leave the rest to God. If it would save her child, shewould shrink at no sacrifice. Whether the truth would still furtherincense Janet, or move her to mercy, she could not tell; she would leavethe issue to God. 

"Listen, sister!" she said. "I have a confession to make. You are mylawful sister. My father was married to your mother. You are entitled tohis 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 areason why I should forgive the murder of my child?"

"No, no!" cried the other wildly, fearing the worst. "I have known of itonly a few weeks, --since my Aunt Polly's death. I had not meant to robyou, --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. Fora moment even her grief at her child's loss dropped to second place inher thoughts. This, then, was the recognition for which, all her life, she had longed in secret. It had come, after many days, and in largermeasure than she had dreamed; but it had come, not with frank kindlinessand sisterly love, but in a storm of blood and tears; not freely given, from an open heart, but extorted from a reluctant conscience by theagony of a mother's fears. Janet had obtained her heart's desire, andnow that it was at her lips, found it but apples of Sodom, filled withdust and ashes!

"Listen!" she cried, dashing her tears aside. "I have but one word foryou, --one last word, --and then I hope never to see your face again! Mymother 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 themoney which you and your friends have robbed me of! You imagined thatthe shame of being a negro swallowed up every other ignominy, --and inyour eyes I am a negro, though I am your sister, and you are white, andpeople have taken me for you on the streets, --and you, therefore, leftme nameless all my life! Now, when an honest man has given me a name ofwhich I can be proud, you offer me the one of which you robbed me, andof which I can make no use. For twenty-five years I, poor, despicablefool, would have kissed your feet for a word, a nod, a smile. Now, whenthis tardy recognition comes, for which I have waited so long, it istainted with fraud and crime and blood, and I must pay for it with mychild'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 stillkeeping back her tears. "I have not done. I throw you back yourfather's name, your father's wealth, your sisterly recognition. I wantnone of them, --they are bought too dear! ah, God, they are bought toodear! But that you may know that a woman may be foully wronged, and yetmay have a heart to feel, even for one who has injured her, you may haveyour child's life, if my husband can save it! Will, " she said, throwingopen the door into the next room, "go with her!"

"God will bless you for a noble woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Carteret. "You donot mean all the cruel things you have said, --ah, no! I will see youagain, 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 thestress of her emotions, and would have fallen, had not Miller caught andsustained her with his arm until they reached the house, where he turnedover 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. "