Mr. Field knew there was a deep sincerity, an almost fanatical earnestness in his nephew, and he respected him none the less for it. He was at that critical season of life in which the mind of man is made up in nearly equal proportions of depth and simplicity.
“I see your convictions are real, yet I strongly advise you to give more time to the matter and make further investigation before you give your views to the world.”
“The more I search, the more I find that condemns lynching.” Elliott spoke in a deferential tone, for despite his own strong convictions, the soundness of his uncle’s views on other matters made him respect his opinion of this.
“I wish you would give over reading those unprincipled authors, my boy, whose aim is to excite the evil passions of the multitude; and shut your ears to the extravagant statements of people who make tools of enthusiastic and imaginative minds to further their own selfish ends. An intelligent conservatism is one of the needs of the day.”
“I am profoundly sorry that my work is so objectionable to you. My publishers tell me it is worth printing, and as evidence of their assurance, they offer me a good round sum, besides a royalty.”
“I grant the probabilities of the book being a pecuniary success, but there are other considerations. You must recollect that all your prospects are centered in the South, and now the affections of your heart bind you here; therefore you should give up all this bitter feeling against us. As you know more of this race, you will find that it is by no means as ill used as you are taught to believe. I advise you most earnestly, as you value your future here, to suppress this book, which would do the South a great injury and yourself little credit.”
Mr. Field leaned wearily back on the high armchair. He had swayed Elliott in some things, but it was clear that in one direction one would always be opposed to that which the other advocated. They could never agree, nor even affect a compromise. The nephew was grieved, yet his purpose was fixed, and he fed on the hope of one day winning reconciliation through fame if not conviction, and in reuniting the sister and brother in the mutual pride of his success.
With half a sigh Elliott began rearranging the pages, when a finely written line in an obscure corner of one page caught his eye. Holding it toward the light he read:
“Are you my country’s foe, and therefore mine?”
At her urgent request, he had allowed Dorothy to read the manuscript, and had been happy in the thought that she had returned it into his own hands without a word of criticism. As he read this question, he felt and appreciated both her love for him and her loyalty to her people. And, while she had not openly condemned his work, he knew he had not her approval of its sentiment. He felt a growing knowledge that any success, no matter its magnitude, would be hollow unless she shared his rejoicings.