“That does not prove that white men are ravishers,” said the Southerner, returning to the charge.
“Oh,” replied Will, with a significant shrug of the shoulders, “take the representatives of my race who are with you tonight. How did we get our complexions, soft curls and regular features? Our ancestors were black, flat-featured, and had many other racial marks. Your race does not intermarry with Negroes, does it? That being the case, the answer is self-evident.”
“Do you not think, then, that under the circumstances the Government ought to assist the Negro to leave the country?” asked Mr. Withington.
“Never!” cried Will, with glowing countenance, “Never! Here where we have been so outrageously maligned, let us refute the charge like men!”
“That sounds well,” said the Southerner with a sneer, “but how will you do it?”
“By using the methods of the South,” replied Will quickly; “create sentiment for the race and against its detractors.”
“And if you get nothing else out of it, the agitators will do a good business and fill their pockets with money.”
“Agitation will do much,” said Will calmly, unruffled by the other’s display of anger. “It gave us freedom; it will give us manhood. The peace, dignity and honor of this nation rises or falls with the Negro. Frederic Douglas once said: ‘Ultimately this nation will be composite. There is a strong demand—a growing demand—for a government capable of protecting all its citizens—rich and poor, white and black—alike.’ The causes for such a government still exist. It remains to be seen if the prophecy will be fulfilled.”
One of the founders of the American Academy at Rome was present, and conversation now turned upon the development of American talent in art. The political aspect of Great Britain in South Africa and the complications likely to arise therefrom was another interesting topic, but under it all the sentiment expressed and the words spoken by the representatives of an humble race that night lingered in the heart of each scholar and thinker who had heard them.
Will had a pressing engagement, and was obliged to excuse himself to the president of the club. He withdrew as quietly as possible. Those nearest him shook him warmly by the hand, and told him that they hoped to hear from him again, and soon, on the same interesting topic.
Mr. Withington now attached himself to John Langley for the remainder of the evening, seeming well pleased to find himself in such company. As they bade each other good night at the close of the festivities he said to John, as he placed his card in his hand:
“I leave tomorrow for Canada, on business connected with the Home Office. I may never return to this country, but I want you to believe that I am deeply interested in the welfare of your people. Write to me whatever comes up of importance to the race, and I will do what I can to make sentiment in my own country for you, and as far as money will go, you shall have the benefit of the help it will give.”
John bade him goodbye, and even his conservative heart was warmed by contact with so good a man. After he had reached his room he took the card from his pocket, and before putting it in a place of safety read the address:
Charles Montfort-Withington, M.P.
Blankshire,
England.
For a long time he sat there staring at the card in his hand. Where had he heard that name before? “Charles Montfort!” Why, it was the family name of Mrs. Smith! Instantly the words of Madam Frances came to his mind, and a great light seemed to illumine his thoughts: “When you are at that table in the company of those men, you shall have the answer to one of the questions you would ask me.”
How often he had listened to the story told by Ma Smith with an incredulous smile. It had seemed to him the idle boasting of a mind entering its dotage. Charles Montfort!—and from England! Heavens! if there should be truth in this fairy tale!
XVIII
What Easter Sunday Brought
’Twas Easter Sunday. The full-blossomed trees
Longfellow
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
The days passed very quietly at No. 500 D Street. The excitement occasioned by the fair, and the extraordinary agitation which had attended the meeting of the American Colored League, had somewhat abated. Softer thoughts and feelings had taken possession of the public mind, for it was very near to the celebration of Easter. The two girls, Dora and Sappho, felt restrained in their intercourse because, although by tacit consent nothing was said of John’s treacherous conduct toward Dora, each knew that the other had discovered it. Dora felt aggrieved and ill-treated; and who could blame her? Doctor Lewis was drawn into the trouble through his attachment to Dora. He pitied her injured feelings; he knew that if she were free and he offered her his love, it would be accepted, and he was not too proud to have done this if it had been an honorable act. He knew that it would not be an honorable act to ask her to break her promise to Langley at this stage of the drama, but within his heart hope grew stronger each day. He saw that John was hopelessly infatuated with Sappho; he saw Dora knew this and resented the wrong done herself, although as yet she could hardly put her thoughts into words. Daydreams began to break in upon the dull monotony of his methodical existence; he watched the signs of growing discontent with all a lover’s impatience to grasp the happiness which he felt would, after a time, be his. He was willing to work, to wait, to serve, if only he might claim
