“I should like to go. I am interested in the Congo,” she answered.
“I, too, would like to go,” Lady Mildred said, and the two men were surprised at the announcement.
“I think you would be wiser to stay at home,” Drake said nervously.
“I wish to go,” Lady Mildred rejoined coldly.
Gaunt shrugged his shoulders and made no further objection, but he was very silent during the drive to the hall, where the meeting was to take place. They entered a building that was packed from gallery to floor and on the platform were many well-known faces. The Archbishop of Canterbury was the chairman and he was supported by the heads of the free churches, while notabilities from every branch of life were present to add weight to the protest against the crime of the Congo.
Eloquent words were spoken—words that deeply stirred the hearts of the vast crowd as they listened to the description of the sufferings of a people who were powerless to help themselves. Then a manifesto was read which had been issued and signed by every well-known divine in the country.
“Twenty-five years ago we sanctioned the formation of the so-called ‘Congo Free State,’ on the ground of its being a ‘humane and benevolent enterprise.’ We invoked the divine blessing upon an undertaking which was intended to work to the benefit of the inhabitants of the country. To speak of those hopes as falsified is to use too mild a term. The basin of the Congo is to-day the scene of as cruel a tyranny as exists on earth.”
Lady Mildred listened with the deepest interest. Like the great mass of the British people she had read something of the state of affairs, but no lasting impression had been left on her mind. But the eloquent words to which she listened brought the whole cruel tragedy vividly before her mind.
John Gaunt had founded his fortune on “red rubber,” and John Gaunt was her husband.
Her eyes happened to rest on his face and she saw that he was very pale—what were his thoughts of this scathing indictment of a nation? She dared not think.