After the lapse of fifteen minutes, Hannibal entered. He had the look of one who had passed a sleepless night, and despite the blackness of his complexion, his cheeks seemed pale.
"Good-morning," said Daisy, rising.
"Good-morning," he replied.
And then there was a brief space of silence, each waiting for the other.
"I am here, you see," said the girl, finally, with an attempt at a smile. "And now will you give me the things I came for, as I cannot stay long?"
The negro tried to look at her, tried many times, but failed. His eyes shifted uneasily to all the other objects in the room, resting on none of them more than a second at a time.
"You wonder," he said, after another pause, "why I returned to America, why I came to your house last night. I thought I could tell you—this morning—and I have been trying to prepare myself to do so—but I cannot. You blame me a great deal, that is evident in every line of your face, but you do not know what I have suffered. Were your father to go to jail for the term the law prescribes, he would not endure the agony that has been mine."
He looked every word he spoke and more.
"I am sorry, truly sorry for you," she replied. "But why could you not leave all your troubles, when you went to France, and begin an entirely new life? You found it true what I told you, I am sure, about the lack of prejudice—on account of your—race."
He nodded and cleared his throat before he spoke again.