Part 13 (1/2)

She shook her head emphatically. ”Oh no, he ain' dead. De signs an' de tokens tells me. I dremp three nights runnin' on'y dis las' week dat I foun' him.”

”He may have married another woman. Your slave marriage would not have prevented him, for you never lived with him after the war, and without that your marriage doesn't count.”

”Wouldn' make no diff'ence wid Sam. He wouldn' marry no yuther 'ooman 'tel he foun' out 'bout me. I knows it,” she added. ”Sump'n's be'n tellin' me all dese years dat I's gwine fin' Sam 'fo I dies.”

”Perhaps he's outgrown you, and climbed up in the world where he wouldn't care to have you find him.”

”No, indeed, suh,” she replied, ”Sam ain' dat kin' er man. He wuz good ter me, Sam wuz, but he wuzn' much good ter n.o.body e'se, fer he wuz one er de triflin'es' han's on de plantation. I 'spec's ter haf ter suppo't 'im w'en I fin' 'im, fer he nebber would work 'less'n he had ter. But den he wuz free, an' he didn' git no pay fer his work, an' I don'

blame 'im much. Mebbe he's done better sence he run erway, but I ain'

'spectin' much.”

”You may have pa.s.sed him on the street a hundred times during the twenty-five years, and not have known him; time works great changes.”

She smiled incredulously. ”I'd know 'im 'mongs' a hund'ed men. Fer dey wuzn' no yuther merlatter man like my man Sam, an' I couldn' be mistook.

I's toted his picture roun' wid me twenty-five years.”

”May I see it?” asked Mr. Ryder. ”It might help me to remember whether I have seen the original.”

As she drew a small parcel from her bosom, he saw that it was fastened to a string that went around her neck. Removing several wrappers, she brought to light an old-fas.h.i.+oned daguerreotype in a black case. He looked long and intently at the portrait. It was faded with time, but the features were still distinct, and it was easy to see what manner of man it had represented.

He closed the case, and with a slow movement handed it back to her.

”I don't know of any man in town who goes by that name,” he said, ”nor have I heard of any one making such inquiries. But if you will leave me your address, I will give the matter some attention, and if I find out anything I will let you know.”

She gave him the number of a house in the neighborhood, and went away, after thanking him warmly.

He wrote down the address on the flyleaf of the volume of Tennyson, and, when she had gone, rose to his feet and stood looking after her curiously. As she walked down the street with mincing step, he saw several persons whom she pa.s.sed turn and look back at her with a smile of kindly amus.e.m.e.nt. When she had turned the corner, he went upstairs to his bedroom, and stood for a long time before the mirror of his dressing-case, gazing thoughtfully at the reflection of his own face.

III.

At eight o'clock the ballroom was a blaze of light and the guests had begun to a.s.semble; for there was a literary programme and some routine business of the society to be gone through with before the dancing.

A black servant in evening dress waited at the door and directed the guests to the dressing-rooms.

The occasion was long memorable among the colored people of the city; not alone for the dress and display, but for the high average of intelligence and culture that distinguished the gathering as a whole.

There were a number of school-teachers, several young doctors, three or four lawyers, some professional singers, an editor, a lieutenant in the United States army spending his furlough in the city, and others in various polite callings; these were colored, though most of them would not have attracted even a casual glance because of any marked difference from white people. Most of the ladies were in evening costume, and dress coats and dancing-pumps were the rule among the men. A band of string music, stationed in an alcove behind a row of palms, played popular airs while the guests were gathering.

The dancing began at half past nine. At eleven o'clock supper was served. Mr. Ryder had left the ballroom some little time before the intermission, but reappeared at the supper-table. The spread was worthy of the occasion, and the guests did full justice to it. When the coffee had been served, the toastmaster, Mr. Solomon Sadler, rapped for order.

He made a brief introductory speech, complimenting host and guests, and then presented in their order the toasts of the evening. They were responded to with a very fair display of after-dinner wit.

”The last toast,” said the toast-master, when he reached the end of the list, ”is one which must appeal to us all. There is no one of us of the sterner s.e.x who is not at some time dependent upon woman,--in infancy for protection, in manhood for companions.h.i.+p, in old age for care and comforting. Our good host has been trying to live alone, but the fair faces I see around me to-night prove that he too is largely dependent upon the gentler s.e.x for most that makes life worth living,--the society and love of friends,--and rumor is at fault if he does not soon yield entire subjection to one of them. Mr. Ryder will now respond to the toast,--The Ladies.”

There was a pensive look in Mr. Ryder's eyes as he took the floor and adjusted his eyegla.s.ses. He began by speaking of woman as the gift of Heaven to man, and after some general observations on the relations of the s.e.xes he said: ”But perhaps the quality which most distinguishes woman is her fidelity and devotion to those she loves. History is full of examples, but has recorded none more striking than one which only to-day came under my notice.”

He then related, simply but effectively, the story told by his visitor of the afternoon. He told it in the same soft dialect, which came readily to his lips, while the company listened attentively and sympathetically. For the story had awakened a responsive thrill in many hearts. There were some present who had seen, and others who had heard their fathers and grandfathers tell, the wrongs and sufferings of this past generation, and all of them still felt, in their darker moments, the shadow hanging over them. Mr. Ryder went on:--