“I hated listening to Norman,” said Tom. “Why should he go and set his heart on those black savages?”
“They are not savages in New Zealand.”
“They are all niggers together,” said Tom vehemently. “I cannot think why Norman should care for them more than for his own brothers and sisters. All I know is, that if I were my father, I would never give my consent.”
“It is lucky you are not,” said Meta, smiling defiance, though a tear shone in her eye. “Dr. May makes the sacrifice with a free heart and willing mind.”
“Everybody goes and sacrifices somebody else,” grumbled Tom.
“Who are the victims now?”
“All of us. What are we to do without Norman? He is worth all of us put together; and I—” Meta was drawn to the boy as she had never been before, as he broke off short, his face full of emotion, that made him remind her of his father.
“You might go out and follow in his steps,” said she, as the most consoling hope she could suggest.
“Not I. Don’t you know what is to happen to me? Ah! Flora has not told you. I thought she would not think it grand enough. She talked about diplomacy—”
“But what?” asked Meta anxiously.