“Will you oblige me, sir, by opening your business at once, as my time is somewhat valuable?” said Clement Sutherland, looking at his watch.
The young man bowed, drew a chair to the opposite side of the table, took a seat, excused himself, and deprecated his uncle’s displeasure for the painful subject he was about to introduce.
Here Clement Sutherland waved his hand impatiently, begging that he would cut his introduction as short as possible.
Then the young man commenced to relate the history of his life and experiences for the last preceding three months; he told how he had been induced to attend the colonization meetings, first merely in the spirit of bravado; how, in hearing the subject freely and ably discussed, the conviction had forced an entrance into his soul.
Here Clement Sutherland wheeled his chair around, so that his back was presented to the light, and his face cast into deep shadow, and from this instant to the end of the conversation, Mark Sutherland could not watch the expression of his countenance to judge his mental comments.
But he went on to relate how long and stoutly he had struggled against this conviction; how at last it had overcome him; how his pride, his selfishness, his interests, his passions, and affections—all had yielded, or must yield in any conflict between them and his sense of duty.
“Facts, sir! facts! Let us have no sentiments, no moral or metaphysical disquisitions, but actual facts! What do you intend to do?”
Mark Sutherland answered, calmly—
“To free every negro on my plantation, and at my own expense to send every one, who is willing to go, to Liberia.”
A scornful, most insulting laugh, was the only comment of the planter.