What Answer?

  CHAPTER XIII

  "_I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more._"

  LOVELACE

  Just after Surrey, for the third time, had passed through the avenue oftrees, two men appeared in it, earnestly conversing. One, the older, wasthe same who had met Willie as he was going out, and had examined himwith such curious interest. The other, in feature, form, and bearing,was so absolutely the counterpart of his companion that it was easy torecognize in them father and son,--a father and son whom it would behard to match. "The finest type of the Anglo-Saxon race I have seen fromAmerica," was the verdict pronounced upon Mr. Ercildoune, when he was ayoung man studying abroad, by an enthusiastic and nationally ignorantEnglishman; "but then, sir," he added, "what very dark complexions youAmericans have! Is it universal?"

  "By no means, sir," was Mr. Ercildoune's reply. "There are someexceedingly fine ones among my countrymen. I come from the South: thatis a bad climate for the tint of the skin."

  "Is it so?" exclaimed John Bull,--"worse than the North?"

  "Very much worse, sir, in more ways than one."

  Perhaps Robert Ercildoune was a trifle fairer than his father, but therewas still perceptible the shade which marked him as effectually anoutcast from the freedom of American society, and the rights of Americancitizenship, as though it had been the badge of crime or the straitjacket of a madman. Something of this was manifested in the conversationin which the two were engaged.

  "It is folly, Robert, for you to carry your refinement and culture intothe ranks as a common soldier, to fight and to die, without thanks. Youare made of too good stuff to serve simply as food for powder."

  "Better men than I, father, have gone there, and are there to-day; menin every way superior to me."

  "Perhaps,--yes, if you will have it so. But what are they? white men,fighting for their own country and flag, for their own rights of manhoodand citizenship, for a present for themselves and a future for theirchildren, for honor and fame. What is there for you?"

  "For one thing, just that of which you spoke. Perhaps not a present forme, but certainly a future for those that come after."

  "A future! How are you to know? what warrant or guarantee have you forany such future? Do you judge by the past? by the signs of to-day? Itell you this American nation will resort to any means--will pledgeanything, by word or implication--to secure the end for which it fights;and will break its pledges just so soon as it can, and with whomsoeverit can with impunity. You, and your children, and your children'schildren after you, will go to the wall unless it has need of you in thearena."

  "I do not think so. This whole nation is learning, through pain andloss, the lesson of justice; of expediency, doubtless, but still ofjustice; and I do not think it will be forgotten when the war is ended.This is our time to wipe off a thousand stigmas of contempt andreproach: this"--

  "Who is responsible for them? ourselves? What cast them there? our ownactions? I trow not. Mark the facts. I pay taxes to support the publicschools, and am compelled to have my children educated at home. I paytaxes to support the government, and am denied any representation or anyvoice in regard to the manner in which these taxes shall be expended. Ihail a car on the street, and am laughed to scorn by the conductor,--or,admitted, at the order of the passengers am ignominiously expelled. Ioffer my money at the door of any place of public amusement, and it isflung back to me with an oath. I enter a train to New York, and ambanished to the rear seat or the 'negro car.' I go to a hotel, open forthe accommodation of the public, and am denied access; or am requestedto keep my room, and not show myself in parlor, office, or at table. Icome within a church, to worship the good God who is no respecter ofpersons, and am shown out of the door by one of his insolent creatures.I carry my intelligence to the polls on election morning, and am elbowedaside by an American boor or a foreign drunkard, and, with opprobriousepithets by law officers and rabble, am driven away. All this in theNorth; all this without excuse of slavery and of the feeling itengenders; all this from arrogant hatred and devilish malignity. Atlast, the country which has disowned me, the government which has neverrecognized save to outrage me, the flag which has refused to cover or toprotect me, are in direct need and utmost extremity. Then do they cryfor me and mine to come up to their help ere they perish. At least, theyhold forth a bribe to secure me? at least, if they make no apology forthe past, they offer compensation for the future? at least, they bidhigh for the services they desire? Not at all!

  "They say to one man, 'Here is twelve hundred dollars bounty with whichto begin; here is sixteen dollars a month for pay; here is the lawpassed, and the money pledged, to secure you in comfort for the rest oflife, if wounded or disabled, or help for your family, if killed. Hereis every door set wide for you to rise, from post to post; money yours,advancement yours, honor, and fame, and glory yours; the love of agrateful country, the applause of an admiring world.'

  "They say to another man,--you, or me, or Sam out there in thefield,--'There is no bounty for you, not a cent; there is pay for you,twelve dollars a month, the hire of a servant; there is no pension foryou, or your family, if you be sent back from the front, wounded ordead; if you are taken prisoner you can be murdered with impunity, or besold as a slave, without interference on our part. Fight like a lion! doacts of courage and splendor! and you shall never rise above the rank ofa private soldier. For you there is neither money nor honor, rightssecured, nor fame gained. Dying, you fall into a nameless grave: living,you come back to your old estate of insult and wrong. If you refusethese tempting offers, we brand you cowards. If, under these infamousrestraints and disadvantages, you fail to equal the white troops by yourside, you are written down--inferiors. If you equal them, you are stillinferiors. If you perform miracles, and surpass them, you are, in ameasure, worthy commendation at last; we consent to see in you humanbeings, fit for mention and admiration,--not as types of your color andof what you intrinsically are, but as exceptions; made such by the habitof association, and the force of surrounding circumstances.'

  "These are the terms the American people offer you, these the termswhich you stoop to accept, these the proofs that they are learning alesson of justice! So be it! there is need. Let them learn it to thefull! let this war go on 'until the cities be wasted without inhabitant,and the houses without man, and the land be utterly destroyed.' Do notyou interfere. Leave them to the teachings and the judgments of God."

  Ercildoune had spoken with such impassioned feeling, with such fire inhis eyes, such terrible earnestness in his voice, that Robert could not,if he would, interrupt him; and, in the silence, found no words for theinstant at his command. Ere he summoned them they saw some oneapproaching.

  "A fine looking fellow! fighting has been no child's play for him," saidRobert, looking, as he spoke, at the empty sleeve.

  Mr. Ercildoune advanced to meet the stranger, and Surrey beheld the sameface upon whose pictured semblance he had once gazed with such intensefeelings, first of jealousy, and then of relief and admiration; the samesplendor of life, and beauty, and vitality. Surrey knew him at once,knew that it was Francesca's father, and went up to him with extendedhand. Mr. Ercildoune took the proffered hand, and shook it warmly. "I amhappy to meet you, Mr. Surrey."

  "You know me?" said he with surprise. "I thought to present myself."

  "I have seen your picture."

  "And I yours. They must have held the mirror up to nature, for theoriginals to be so easily known. But may I ask where you saw mine?_yours_ was in Miss Ercildoune's possession."

  "As was yours," was answered after a moment's hesitation,--Surreythought, with visible reluctance. His heart flew into his throat. "Shehas my picture,--she has spoken of me," he said to himself. "I wonderwhat her father will think,--what he will do. Come, I will to the pointimmediately."

  "Mr. Ercildoune," said he, aloud, "you know something of me? of myposition and prospects?"

  "A great deal."

  "I trust, nothing disparaging or ignoble."

>   "I know nothing for which any one could desire oblivion."

  "Thanks. Let me speak to you, then, of a matter which should have beenlong since proposed to you had I been permitted the opportunity. I loveyour daughter. I cannot speak about that, but you will understand allthat I wish to say. I have twice--once by letter, once by speech--lether know this and my desire to call her wife. She has twicerefused,--absolutely. You think this should cut off all hope?"

  Ercildoune had been watching him closely. "If she does not love you," heanswered, at the pause.

  "I do not know. I went away from here a little while ago with herperemptory command not to return. I should not have dared disobey it hadI not learned--thought--in fact, but for some circumstances--I beg yourpardon--I do not know what I am saying. I believed if I saw her oncemore I could change her determination,--could induce her to give meanother response,--and came with that hope."

  "Which has failed?"

  "Which has thus far failed that she will not at all see me; will hold nocommunication with me. I should be a ruffian did I force myself on herthus without excuse or reason. My own love would be no apology did I notthink, did I not dare to hope, that it is not aversion to me thatinduces her to act as she has done. Believing so, may I beg a favor ofyou? may I entreat that you will induce her to see me, if only for alittle while?"

  Ercildoune smiled a sad, bitter smile, as he answered, "Mr. Surrey, ifmy daughter does not love you, it would be hopeless for you or for me toassail her refusal. If she does, she has doubtless rejected you for areason which you can read by simply looking into my face. No words ofmine can destroy or do that away."

  "There is nothing to destroy; there is nothing to do away. Thank you forspeaking of it, and making the way easy. There is nothing in all thewide world between us,--there can be nothing between us,--if she lovesme; nothing to keep us apart save her indifference or lack of regard forme. I want to say so to her if she will give me the chance. Will you nothelp me to it?"

  "You comprehend all that I mean?"

  "I do. It is, as I have said, nothing. That love would not be worth thetelling that considered extraneous circumstances, and not the objectitself."

  "You have counted all the consequences? I think not. How, indeed, shouldyou be able? Come with me a moment." The two went up to the house,across the wide veranda, into a room half library, half lounging-room,which, from a score of evidences strewn around, was plainly the specialresort of the master. Over the mantel hung the life-size portrait of anexcessively beautiful woman. A fine, _spirituelle_ face, with proudlines around the mouth and delicate nostrils, but with a tender,appealing look in the eyes, that claimed gentle treatment. This facesaid, "I was made for sunshine and balmy airs, but, if darkness andstorm assail, I can walk through them unflinching, though the progressbe short; I can die, and give no sign." Willie went hastily up to this,and stood, absorbed, before it. "Francesca is very like her mother,"said Ercildoune, coming to his side. It was his own thought, but he madeno answer.

  "I will tell you something of her and myself; a very little story; youcan draw the moral. My father, who was a Virginian, sent my brother andme to England when we were mere boys, to be trained and educated. Afterhis fashion, doubtless, he loved us; for he saw that we had everyadvantage that wealth, and taste, and care could provide; and though henever sent for us, nor came to us, in all the years after we left hishouse,--and though we had no legal claim upon him,--he acknowledged ushis children, and left us the entire proceeds of his immense estates,unincumbered. We were so young when we went abroad, had been so tenderlytreated at home, had seen and known so absolutely nothing of the societyabout us, that we were ignorant as Arabs of the state of feeling andprejudice in America against such as we, who carried any trace of negroblood. Our treatment in England did but increase this oblivion.

  "We graduated at Oxford; my brother, who was two years older than I,waiting upon me that we might go together through Europe; and togetherwe had three of the happiest years of life. On the Continent I met_her_. You see what she is; you know Francesca: it is useless for me toattempt to describe her. I loved her,--she loved me,--it was confessed.In a little while I called her wife; I would, if I could, tell you ofthe time that followed: I cannot. We had a beautiful home, youth,health, riches, friends, happiness, two noble boys. At last an evil fatebrought us to America. I was to look after some business affairs which,my agent said, needed personal supervision. My brother, whose health hadfailed, was advised to try a sea-voyage, and change of scene andclimate. My wife was enthusiastic about the glorious Republic,--thegreat, free America,--the land of my birth. We came, carrying with usletters from friends in England, that were an open sesame to the mostjealously barred doors. They flew wide at our approach, but to be shutwith speed when my face was seen; hands were cordially extended, anddrawn back as from a loathsome contact when mine went to meet them. Inbrief, we were outlawed, ostracised, sacrificed on the altar of thisdevilish American prejudice,--wholly American, for it is found nowhereelse in the world,--I for my color, she for connecting her fate withmine.

  "I was so held as to be unable to return at once, and she would notleave me. Then my brother drooped more and more. His disease needed thebrightest and most cheerful influences. The social and moral atmospherestifled him. He died; and we, with grief intensified by bitterness, laidhim in the soil of his own country as though it had been that of thestranger and enemy.

  "At this time the anti-slavery movement was provoking profound thoughtand feeling in America. I at once identified myself with it; not becauseI was connected with the hated and despised race, but because I loathedall forms of tyranny, and fought against them with what measure ofstrength I possessed. Doubtless this made me a more conspicuous mark forthe shafts of malice and cruelty, and as I could nowhere be hurt asthrough her, malignity exhausted its devices there. She was hooted atwhen she appeared with me on the streets; she was inundated withinfamous letters; she was dragged before a court of _justice_ upon theplea that she had defied the law of the state against amalgamation,forbidding the marriage of white and colored; though at the time it wasknown that she was English, that we were married in England and byEnglish law. One night, in the midst of the riots which in 1838disgraced this city, our house was surrounded by a mob, burned over us;and I, with a few faithful friends, barely succeeded in carrying her toa place of safety,--uncovered, save by her delicate night-robe and ashawl, hastily caught up as we hurried her away. The yelling fiends, theburning house, the awful horror of fright and danger, the shock to herhealth and strength, the storm,--for the night was a wild andtempestuous one, which drenched her to the skin,--from all these shemight have recovered, had not her boy, her first-born, been carried intoher, bruised and dead,--dead, through an accident of burning rafters andfalling stones; an accident, they said; yet as really murdered as thoughthey had wilfully and brutally stricken him down.

  "After that I saw that she, too, would die, were she not taken back toour old home. The preparations were hastily made; we turned our facestowards England; we hoped to reach it at least before another pair ofeyes saw the light, but hoped in vain. There on the broad sea Francescawas born. There her mother died. There was she buried."

  It was with extreme difficulty Ercildoune had controlled his face andvoice, through the last of this distressing recital, and with the finalword he bowed his forehead on the picture-frame,--convulsed withagony,--while voiceless sobs, like spasms, shook his form. Surreyrealized that no words were to be said here, and stood by, awed andsilent. What hand, however tender, could be laid on such a wound asthis?

  Presently he looked up, and continued: "I came back here, because, Isaid, here was my place. I had wealth, education, a thousand advantageswhich are denied the masses of people who are, like me, of mixed race. Icame here to identify my fate with theirs; to work with and for them; tofight, till I died, against the cruel and merciless prejudice whichgrinds them down. I have a son, who has just entered the service of thiscountry, perhaps to die under its flag. I
have a daughter,"--Willieflushed and started forward;--"I asked you when I began this recital, ifyou had counted all the consequences. You know my story; you see withwhat fate you link yours; reflect! Francesca carries no mark of herbirth; her father or brother could not come inside her home withoutshocking society by the scandal, were not the story earlier known. Theman whom you struck down this morning is one of our neighbors; you sawand heard his brutal assault: are you ready to face more of the likekind? Better than you I know what sentence will be passed uponyou,--what measure awarded. It is for your own sake I say these things;consider them. I have finished."

  Surrey had made to speak a half score of times, and as often checkedhimself,--partly that he should not interrupt his companion; partly thathe might be master of his emotions, and say what he had to utter withoutheat or excitement.

  "Mr. Ercildoune," he now said, "listen to me. I should despise myselfwere I guilty of the wicked and vulgar prejudice universal in America. Ishould be beneath contempt did I submit or consent to it. Two years agoI loved Miss Ercildoune without knowing aught of her birth. She is thesame now as then; should I love her the less? If anything hard or cruelis in her fate that love can soften, it shall be done. If any painfulburdens have been thrown upon her life, I can carry, if not the whole,then a part of them. If I cannot put her into a safe shelter where noill will befall her, I can at least take her into my arms and go withher through the world. It will be easier for us, I think,--I hope,--toface any fate if we are together. Ah, sir, do not prevent it; do notdeny me this happiness. Be my ambassador, since she will not let mespeak for myself, and plead my own cause."

  In his earnestness he had come close to Mr. Ercildoune, putting out hisone hand with a gesture of entreaty, with a tone in his voice, and alook in his face, irresistible to hear and behold. Ercildoune took thehand, and held it in a close, firm grasp. Some strong emotion shook him.The expression, a combination of sadness and scorn, which commonly heldpossession of his eyes, went out of them, leaving them radiant. "No," hesaid, "I will say nothing for you. I would not for worlds spoil yourplea; prevent her hearing, from your own mouth, what you have to say. Iwill send her to you,"--and, going to a door, gave the order to aservant, "Desire Miss Francesca to come to the parlor." Then, motioningSurrey to the room, he went away, buried in thought.

  Standing in the parlor, for he was too restless to sit, he tried to planhow he should meet her; to think of a sentence which at the outsetshould disarm her indignation at being thus thrust upon him, and conveyin some measure the thought of which his heart was full, withouttrespassing on her reserve, or telling her of the letter which he hadread. Then another fear seized him; it was two years since he hadwritten,--two years since that painful and terrible scene had beenenacted in the very room where he stood,--two years since she hadconfessed by deed and look that she loved him. Might she not havechanged? might she not have struggled for the mastery of this feelingwith only too certain success? might she not have learned to regard himwith esteem, perchance,--with friendship,--sentiment,--anything but thatwhich he desired or would claim at her hands? Silence and absence andtime are pitiless destructives. Might they not? Aye, might they not? Hepaced to and fro, with quick, restless tread, at the thought. All hislove and his longing cried out against such a cruel supposition. Hestopped by the side of the bookcase against which she had fallen in thatmerciless and suffering struggle, and put his hand down on the littleprojection, which he knew had once cut and wounded her, with a strong,passionate clasp, as though it were herself he held. Just then he hearda step,--her step, yet how unlike!--coming down the stairs. Where hestood he could see her as she crossed the hall, coming unconsciously tomeet him. All the brightness and airy grace seemed to have been drawnquite out of her. The alert, slender figure drooped as if it carriedsome palpable weight, and moved with a step slow and unsteady as that ofsickness or age. Her face was pathetic in its sad pallor, and blue,sorrowful circles were drawn under the deep eyes, heavy and dim withthe shedding of unnumbered tears. It almost broke his heart to look ather. A feeling, pitiful as a mother would have for her suffering baby,took possession of his soul,--a longing to shield and protect her. Tearsblinded him; a great sob swelled in his throat; he made a step forwardas she came into the room. "Papa," she said, without looking up, "youwanted me?" There was no response. "Papa!" In an instant an arm enfoldedher; a presence, tender and strong, bent above her; a voice, husky withcrowding emotions, yet sweet with all the sweetness of love, breathed,"My darling! my darling!" as _his_ fair, sunny hair swept her face.

  Even then she remembered another scene, remembered her promise; eventhen she thought of him, of his future, and struggled to release herselffrom his embrace.

  What did he say? what could he say? Where were the arguments he hadplanned, the entreaties he had purposed? where the words with which hewas to tell his tale, combat her refusal, win her to a willing and happyassent? All gone.

  There was nothing but his heart and its caresses to speak for him.Silent, with the ineffable stillness he kissed her eyes, her mouth, heldher to his breast with a passionate fondness,--a tender, yet masterfulhold, which said, "Nothing shall separate us now." She felt it,recognized it, yielded without power to longer contend, clasped her armsabout his neck, met his eyes, and dropped her face upon his heart with along, tremulous sigh which confessed that heaven was won.