Mrs. Butters exclaimed with pleasure and asked Mr. Gibson to please read aloud to them all. He took the volume in his hands, and he proved to be an excellent reader. His affecting descriptions of the Africans torn from their homes, of families separated, of slaughter and raiding parties, brought tears to Fanny’s eyes and she could not help wondering again, if it were possible that all of this could be known to her uncle? She heartily wished that Edmund was there, to help her in her perplexity.
After Mr. Gibson had read for three quarters of an hour, and then begged a brief respite, Mrs. Butters challenged everyone in the party to recite from memory a favourite speech from Shakespeare.
Mr. Thompson assumed the role of Richard the Third before Fanny’s eyes and gave out with Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York… Fanny was quite transfixed and when he exclaimed ‘dive thoughts, down to my soul…. here Clarence comes!’ she looked anxiously toward the door, expecting Clarence, and everyone laughed at her but so merrily and fondly that though she blushed, she also laughed, at herself.
Mr. Gibson then stood, and with twinkling eyes and a confiding smile, declaimed:
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night….
And when her own turn came, she could not meet the eyes of her auditors, but looking into the flames on the hearth, softly recited the only Shakespeare speech she had read often enough to know by heart:
Then, I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son.
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended, for it hurts not him
That he is lov'd of me…
and so on through the rest, until she fell silent.
There was a moment’s silence… then— “Oh well done, Miss Price!” from Mr. Thompson. “We shall have a poetry-reciting contest between thee and Mr. Gibson one day, to learn who has the most prodigious memory!”
Fanny was starting to exclaim, “Oh no, you must excuse me, I cannot—” when she caught Mrs. Butters looking at her significantly, a look that clearly said, ‘don’t apologize for yourself, Miss Fanny Price.’ Instead, Fanny coughed, and blushed, and nodded, and said, “thank you, sir,” and coughed again, and Mrs. Butters smiled and Mr. Gibson rose and fetched her a glass of wine with water.
Finally, Mrs. Butters and Mr. Thompson fell into an involved conversation about the regulation of a colony for freed slaves, how it would be financed, how governed, how defended, whereupon it appeared that Mr. Thompson was so intense on every detail, from the crops that should be grown, the clothing and tools that should be issued, the modes of religious instruction provided, the recreations that would be permitted or forbidden, that to Fanny he appeared to be building his own perfect kingdom in which the inhabitants, while nominally free, would be so surrounded by well-meaning strictures that they could decide nothing for themselves. From this discussion the two young people in silent accord withdrew, and found themselves drifting away from the circle of light by the fireside and moving toward the tall windows which overlooked the broad lawn.
“The night is too cold to take a turn upon the terrace, Miss Price,” Mr. Gibson offered. “But I believe we can watch the moon rise if we stand by the window. You will not be too cold? Allow me to place your shawl for you.” Thus half shielded by the drawing-room curtains, the young people alternately admired the gathering night and each other. Mr. Gibson talked of himself, as a young man with a pair of sympathetic eyes fixed upon him is wont to do.
“I was intended for the law, Miss Price, and I do not deny that had I persevered in that profession, it might have been of some service to our cause, but, for better or worse, I found that I could not endure it. If you know what it is to be impelled by an irresistible force, then you will understand me. I cannot do other than what I am doing—although I know perfectly well it means”—and here was a significant glance at his fair companion— “I cannot afford to settle or marry, not with the life I now lead. I am indifferent as to worldly ambition, in the sense of becoming a foremost parliamentarian or leader of society; money I value only as it may assist our cause—but,” he laughed, “I will confess that fame has its appeal.”
“But I think sir, you are not eager to win the approbation of others, if to do so you were compelled to conform to society against your conscience?”
“How well you know me—or rather, how well you have discerned my particular form of vanity! I do not know how to temper my convictions to suit society, nor how to view with complaisance what ought to be condemned with horror and detestation by every man who calls himself a civilized gentleman. There are many, I know, who follow the path of duty and in so doing, must turn away from following their heart’s desire, but I am a selfish fellow—I cannot do other than what I feel I must do, and cannot be silent when I must speak, cost what it may.”
“To dedicate your life in such a manner can only bring you the respect and admiration of those who deserve the name of friend,” Fanny declared loyally. “It is only to be regretted that there are not more persons like yourself and Mr. Thompson, those who give their lives to an important cause,
