"In that statement I simply followed the popular rumor, for the time for the entire truth had not yet come. But our mother was not the child of Colonel Rawden. Her mother was indeed Rawden's slave, but not one drop of Rawden's blood flows in our veins. Colonel Rawden was aware of the truth; well he knew that Herodia, whom he sold to our father, was the child of —— ——."
There was a pause: and it was not broken until Esther spoke:
"You would not like to return to Europe, then?"
"For one reason, and one only, I would like to visit Europe."
"And that reason?"
"Know, Esther, that at Florence, in the course of a hurried tour through Italy, I met a gentleman named Bernard Lynn. His native country I never ascertained; he was near fifty years of age; gentlemanly in his exterior, of reputed wealth, and accompanied by an only daughter, Eleanor Lynn. At Florence,—it matters not how,—I saved his daughter's life—ay, more than life, her honor. All his existence was wrapt up in her; you may, therefore, imagine the extent of his gratitude to the young American who saved the life of this idolized child."
"Was the girl grateful, as well as the father?"
"I remained but a week in their company, and then separated, to see them no more forever. That week was sufficient to assure me that I loved her better than my life,—that my passion was returned; and could I but forget the negro blood which mingles in my veins, I might boldly claim her as my own. Her father had but one prominent hatred: mild and gentlemanly on all other subjects, he was ferocious at the sight or mention of a negro. He regarded the African race as a libel upon mankind; a link between the monkey and the man; a caricature of the human race; the work of Nature, in one of her unlucky moods. Conscious that there was negro blood in my veins, I left him abruptly. With this consciousness I could not press my suit for the hand of his daughter."
"But you would like to see her again?"
"Could I meet her as an equal, yes! But never can I look upon her face again. Don't you see, Esther, how at every turn of life, I am met by the fatal whisper, 'There is negro blood in your veins!'"