[HE 1 [BRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CAT IFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 I 1
 
 Merely a Negress
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 
 A WEST AFRICAN STORY 
 
 By 
 
 Stuart Young 
 
 London 
 
 John Long 
 
 13 and 14 Norris Street, Haymarket 
 1904
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 
 JOHN HOPE, ESQ. 
 
 OF MANCHESTER AND OF CONGLETON 
 
 IN APPRECIATION OF THE MANY KINDNESSES 
 
 RECEIVED AT HIS HANDS 
 
 DURING MY STAY IN 
 
 GRAND BASSA
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. UNREST . . . ... 7 
 
 II. A POSSIBLE REMEDY . . 15 
 
 III. THE OPTIMISM OF YOUTH . . 25 
 
 IV. THE FIRST TASTE . . 41 
 V. A CONVERSATION . ... 52 
 
 VI. IDEAS . . . 59 
 
 VII. LEARNING NEW THINGS . . 67 
 
 VIII. ONE POINT OF VIEW . . 75 
 
 IX. AN INTERLOPER . . . . 85 
 
 X. SAMIE . 95 
 
 XI. LOVE i' THE HEART . . . . 107 
 
 XII. HIGH HOPES . . . . . 116 
 
 XIII. A LOCAL EVENT . . ... 125 
 
 XIV. ONE DAY NEARER . . . . 134 
 XV. A PROPOSAL . . ... 144 
 
 XVI. A STARTLING EVENT . . . 152 
 
 XVII. A NEW RESPONSIBILITY . . . 161 
 
 XVIII. OVER THE SEAS . . . . . 170 
 
 XIX. VIE DE BOHEME . . ... 179 
 
 XX. THE VOICE OF HOPE . . 188 
 
 XXI. Rus IN URBE . 200 
 Cr 
 
 7G498S
 
 Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PACE 
 
 XXII. NEW WONDERS . . . . 213 
 
 XXIII. GROPING . . ... 222 
 
 XXIV. LITERARY GROWTH . ... 230 
 XXV. ONE PASSES . . . 236 
 
 XXVI. MISUNDERSTANDINGS * . . . . 244 
 
 XXVII. AN AVENUE OF ESCAPE . ... 256 
 
 XXVIII. THE QUARREL . . . 264 
 
 XXIX. IN EXITU ISRAEL . . &*y-- . 274 
 
 XXX. THE BUBBLE BURSTS *. f . 284 
 
 XXXI. FOREBODINGS . . . 296 
 
 XXXII. HOPELESSLY ALONE . . . 306 
 
 XXXIII. THE FULFILMENT OF THE EMOTIONAL IDEA . 317 
 
 XXXIV. DRAWING NEARER . * . . 325 
 XXXV. HOME AT LAST . . ^ [fr. . . 333 
 
 AUTHOR'S POSTSCRIPT . . . . 337
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 UNREST 
 
 " We are our own devils. We drive ourselves out of 
 our Edens " 
 
 r ~PHE sun stood proudly above the docks on a 
 beautiful morning in June, 19 , and the 
 light was dappling the river with opalescent tints. 
 Liverpool was at her busiest period, for this was the 
 height of the West African season, and the steamers 
 were running on an augmented service. Cabs were 
 rattling up to the landing-stages, passengers were 
 hurrying along the gangways, and everywhere was 
 the multitudinous murmur of traffic. 
 
 When Frank Benson arrived at the Toxteth 
 Dock there were three of the Elder-Dempster boats 
 in process of discharging cargo. He never visited 
 Liverpool without calling at this favourite haunt 
 of business men. After the comparative sleepi- 
 ness of his little Manchester suburb the effect of 
 this ceaseless activity was revivifying, renascent, 
 strengthening.
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 The plain truth was that he had ever been in- 
 stinct with life, and loved above all things to see 
 the rush and hurry of commerce. As yet the 
 proper course of trade had not commenced, but 
 Benson was supremely satisfied. He passed slowly 
 down the length of the dock, now and again ex- 
 changing a nod with an acquaintance. Presently 
 he was aroused to a keener interest in the steamer 
 under survey by the sight of a little heap of ivories. 
 He paused incredulously, for this was a Northward 
 Windward boat, and tusks were an unusual kind of 
 produce to arrive from that part of the African 
 coast. 
 
 " Well, Benson, old boy, how are you ? Nice 
 little lot, aren't they ? " 
 
 He turned and looked upon the speaker, a brisk, 
 handsome man of about thirty-five. Evidently he 
 had prospered in his calling, for his every move- 
 ment indicated success. Benson recognised him 
 immediately as the manager of a large firm of 
 Manchester shippers. They were members of the 
 one club, and slightly more than speaking acquaint- 
 ances. He held out his hand frankly. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Denley. From your house at 
 Grand Bassa, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Our agent picked them up somewhere in the 
 interior. You have never had any big game 
 shooting, have you, Benson ? " 
 
 There was something of the traveller's pity for 
 the stay-at-home in his voice, and the younger man 
 felt himself more than interested. 
 
 " You have visited the West Coast ? " he asked. 
 
 Denley laughed. " Fourteen or fifteen times. 
 There's not a healthier place in all Africa than
 
 Unrest 
 
 Liberia, where our houses are stationed. You will 
 see our name on the greater part of the Bassa and 
 Sinoe produce." 
 
 He pointed indifferently to about thirty casks of 
 palm oil, and Benson saw that they were all marked 
 
 "Were you ever in Africa?" asked Denley, after 
 a pause. 
 
 " No," replied Benson. " As you are no doubt 
 aware, I have not indulged in travel overmuch. 
 Paris and Berlin are the two most distant points of 
 my journeyings." 
 
 " Just so. We are sending out a young fellow by 
 the Sobo next week, and it is not anticipated that he 
 will have to return home through sickness. Do you 
 know, the greater part of this West African jargon 
 about mortality is groundless ? You might travel 
 the whole world over and not see a fairer land than 
 Liberia in the summer months : a sky that is never 
 without a sun from early morning until seven at 
 night, an ocean that is always blue and placid, and 
 vegetation of the most luxurious growth. We 
 haven't sent a man out to Grand Bassa yet who 
 didn't ardently long for a return trip." 
 
 Benson was affected by Denley's enthusiasm 
 more than he would have cared to admit. He 
 turned away. Then remembering that he had not 
 shaken hands with his friend, nor given him a 
 word of farewell, he went back. " I will call in 
 and see you at Fane Street some time," he said. 
 Then he walked in the direction of the station.
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 The town was awakening, and men with baskets 
 in their hands were going to their work. A con- 
 tinuous current of cabs and hansoms, lorries and 
 handcarts, flowed towards the docks. The drunken 
 man of last night was lurching his erratic way 
 homewards, and the day policemen were taking up 
 their places at the street-corners. 
 
 As Frank Benson leaned back in his carriage he 
 looked eagerly at the thronging platform. Three 
 girls from the large jam factory at Aintree came 
 swinging along, singing shrilly. They paused ab- 
 ruptly opposite his window, and one of them gave 
 a gasp of consternation as she began to shake her 
 loose apron. " I've gone an' lost them after all. 
 An' me picked 'em specially for Teddy, that he 
 might have a smell o' the medders." Her com- 
 panions became restless. " Oh, hang the flowers ! 
 Come on, Aggie, we'll be late." The girl turned 
 resolutely towards the station entrance. " You can 
 go on," she cried truculently, " but I'm goin' back 
 to Sefton Park to get my Teddy some buttercups. 
 So there ! " Rapid words and gesticulations were 
 exchanged, and Aggie's voice continued its shrill 
 expostulation from an increasing distance. A few 
 seconds later she returned, her face flushed, and her 
 mouth firmly set. In her hands were a straggled 
 heap of buttercups and daisies. " I found them 
 in my blouse," she said apologetically. The three 
 girls linked arms again, and passed hurriedly down 
 the side of the train. The sharp tones died away, 
 and Frank turned to his papers. 
 
 He beguiled the forty-five minutes' journey be- 
 tween Liverpool and Manchester by a perusal of 
 the Mercury. Passing down Market Street on his 
 
 10
 
 Unrest 
 
 way to the car which was to carry him to his home 
 at Eldon Green, he purchased a bunch of primroses, 
 and gratefully inhaled their fragrance as the electric 
 tram sped onward. 
 
 He reached home, and gave the flowers to his 
 mother to place in water. Both his parents were 
 alive, and he had not yet opened an establishment 
 of his own. He was an only child, and his father 
 had been with one of the large railway companies 
 for many years. After he had partaken of a slight 
 lunch, he turned to his mails. There were several 
 proofs to correct, and a parcel of novels had just 
 arrived from the Observer's office for review. 
 
 He turned to his printer's slips with a sigh of 
 impatience. The first was of a short story written 
 a few weeks previously in the fields. It seemed 
 redolent of the scent of buttercups and the fresh- 
 ness of grasses. In it he had asserted that the 
 grinding tumult of life was a senseless outcome of 
 labour, and that a sufficiency of food and clothing, 
 and liberty to enjoy the real things of existence, 
 were to be desired more than opulence and power. 
 In the whole realm of vital things but one was 
 truly pleasurable health, with its accompanying 
 delight in the simple phenomena of nature. 
 
 The hero of the little idyll was a poet, and he 
 sang extravagantly of the beauties of the earth. 
 Benson smiled as he read the lines that had seemed 
 so tangibly true to him a brief month before. 
 
 " / will tell you the story of Rose, 
 In my garden the sweet flower grows 
 
 Strongly and gaily ; 
 She sings to her mates 'mid the throng 
 A wondrously rapturous song 
 Hourly and daily. 
 ii
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " ' / am the Queen of the Flowers : 
 All reds and all whites may be ours, 
 
 Watch ye the glory ; 
 On plainland and hill, or in dale, 
 We blush at the sun, or are pale 
 At the moon's story' 
 
 " Then turning to others she spake 
 While bending athwart the green brake, 
 
 Silent and shady, 
 
 ' Look ! look at the skein of my dress, 
 Fragile in pure loveliness 
 Look at your lady.' 
 
 " The tulip and lilac bent down, 
 And gazed at the red of her gown, 
 
 Pale in their pride ; 
 The pansy and mimosa stooped, 
 While the wallflower wearily drooped 
 
 Down to her side. 
 
 " / watched the flower-play, and I smiled. 
 I wondered, and then J said, ' Child, 
 
 You speak too clearly. 
 Oh, Rose, serene in your show 
 Of red and of green, yet I know 
 One I love dearly. 
 
 " ' Have you seen flowers of a white 
 So fresh and so pure and so bright 
 
 That little eyes, 
 Not having cognition of sin, 
 Admiringly looking within 
 Have seen paradise ? 
 
 " ' True, Rose, that you bright are of hue, 
 And other flowers looking at you 
 
 Falter ; and mere 
 Knowledge that men deem you sweet 
 Makes the violet droop at your feet 
 
 Shedding a tear. 
 
 12
 
 Unrest 
 
 " ' Bui the flower, gentle, timid, I sing 
 Is a tenderer, holier thing 
 
 On land, plain or hilly. 
 I praise most the bud of my breast, 
 The flower that is emblem of rest, 
 
 Lowly, sweet Z/'/y.' " 
 
 Benson finished off his proof, mechanically 
 placed it in its return envelope, and put it on 
 the mantelpiece ready for posting. He looked 
 despairingly at the heap of books on the table. 
 To-day he could do nothing more, he knew. He 
 lifted up the novel that lay on the top and looked 
 at the title. "The eternal Corelli !" he murmured. 
 " I shall refuse to review it. How she has howled 
 at me because of my criticism of Ziska ! " 
 
 He put on his hat, took a spray of the primroses 
 from the vase, and turned towards the fields. 
 
 It would be hard to say how Frank Benson had 
 drifted into journalism. He had always been a 
 lover of the byways of literature, and had early 
 set up a school of his own. This selection would 
 have greatly pleased the multitude of young writers 
 whom he adored, but would have been inevitably 
 condemned by a man of over forty years of age. 
 The influence of these singers bright, earnest, 
 art-loving was apparent in all his work. His was 
 an organism that could not exist under the regime 
 of hard-and-fast rules. Literature was a free field, 
 and gave him the liberty for which he had always 
 striven. Of fiction though he read only in a 
 desultory fashion he knew a great deal, and there 
 was hardly a living writer of whom he could not 
 claim to have read one - third of his or her 
 productions. Of dead novelists, dating back 
 
 '3
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 to Richardson, his information was even more 
 adequate. He had commenced to write at the age 
 of eighteen. Now, he was connected with one or 
 two of the leading London reviews, and sedulously 
 avoided the popular magazine press. The result 
 of this was that his income had always been pre- 
 carious, and at times became unsatisfactory. But 
 he had indulgent parents, and his wants were few. 
 
 He was fairly popular with his companions, 
 though he might have been more pleasing had he 
 been content to drop his reserve. His sense of 
 humour was great, but as it remained self-isolated 
 his friends deemed him excessively serious. Only 
 three small volumes had as yet been published by 
 him, and these were kindly received. He deter- 
 mined to postpone a further effort until he was a 
 few years older, although he had sufficient scattered 
 materials to make a very presentable book. In 
 figure he was tall and thinly built, and when people 
 looked at his dark eyes they might have taken him 
 for a genius. His conversation was generally slow, 
 but at such times as passion moved him his voice 
 proclaimed him as a man of potent humours. His 
 age was twenty-three, and he remained at that psy- 
 chologically restless period of life when eccentricity 
 shows itself in unaccountable changes of mood.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 A POSSIBLE REMEDY 
 
 " Stretching his hands out to catch the stars, man forgets the 
 flowers at his feet " 
 
 "DENSON was fond of his parents in an unusually 
 high degree. He lacked that pessimism which 
 has so long been a characteristic of town-bred 
 young men. As yet he was not engaged, and 
 woman's appearance became of little moment to 
 him. He loved everything that was pleasing to 
 the eye, and looked at a pretty girl in the same 
 way that a connoisseur would gaze at a picture or 
 a flower. But he had the reputation of being 
 averse to female society, and nothing can be more 
 killing to a man's social chances of success. 
 
 The greater part of his work he turned out at 
 home in his rooms ; but the next two days he 
 spent at the newspaper offices in Cross Street 
 reviewing the novels submitted to him. 
 
 Continually the sight of the flowers sold on the 
 curbs of the streets reminded him of his desire for 
 change. He admired the dull reverberation of the 
 traffic, and he worked with open windows. The 
 subdued murmur from the principal thoroughfares, 
 prolonged, monotonous, rose to . meet him from 
 
 15
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 early morning until he closed his door at night. 
 The steady diapason strain seemed indispensable 
 to him from long use and remembrance ; and yet 
 the country, the sea, was calling him irresistibly 
 away from the town. 
 
 He arrived home tired and fagged. His resolu- 
 tion regarding the novel of the lady who is so 
 popular with the English masses he had kept. 
 But there had been others equally as fatiguing 
 to one of his aesthetic predilections, and his 
 soul had sickened as he read the blatant small- 
 talk chronicled in the dozen latest volumes from 
 London. 
 
 There was much conversation over dinner be- 
 tween his father and mother regarding their annual 
 holiday. It was proposed that they should visit 
 Folkestone, and several times Mrs. Benson looked 
 inquiringly at her son for an opinion. 
 
 " Daddy, I'm tired of the old places," he said. 
 " Haven't we been to Folkestone before, three 
 years ago ? " 
 
 Mr. Benson's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. 
 He was a man of just over fifty, ruddy, stout, and 
 comfortable. 
 
 "My dear boy, what would you have? I 
 read your story in the Monitor yesterday, and 
 you speak eloquently enough of the charms of 
 country life." 
 
 Benson slowly sipped his coffee. 
 
 " You don't understand. It is the old com- 
 plaint. Do you remember the time that I went off 
 on a walking expedition with Dick La Bannote ? 
 He was then at the same period of development 
 as I am now, and he conceived the notion fan- 
 
 16
 
 A Possible Remedy 
 
 tastically be it owned of looking for the fiancee 
 whom he had not yet seen. I have got the identical 
 fever in my blood, and feel as though I must go 
 upon the same quest." 
 
 Little Mrs. Benson looked anxiously at her son. 
 She had often wished that he would settle down to 
 matrimony, but she certainly expected to have 
 some voice in the matter of selection. 
 
 " Life might be fairly satisfactory in town if one 
 could have it all one's own way," continued Frank. 
 " But this subservience to the caprice of my editors 
 is wearing me out. Sooner or later I feel as though 
 I shall either leave reviewing alone altogether or 
 forsake my art in despair." 
 
 Mr. Benson laughed outright. 
 
 " That is what I have been advising you to do 
 for a long time, Frank. Manchester is at fault. 
 Leave it for a time, and you will return thoroughly 
 cured. Come now, let us all vegetate for a couple 
 of months at some quiet country or seaside town, 
 and during our holiday promise me that you will 
 not use your pen." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, daddy. But it is not 
 Manchester from which I want to escape. It is 
 England. So long as I am within the coastline of 
 this awfully advanced country, so long will I be 
 hearing the latest literary gossip." 
 
 "Try Paris," said Mr. Benson sententiously, 
 but Frank did not heed the interruption. 
 
 " What on earth does it matter to me whether 
 this book has run into ten editions, or whether that 
 is withdrawn for political reasons three weeks after 
 publication ? While England holds- me I must 
 any one, man or woman, who has written for the 
 B 17
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 press will understand why interest myself in 
 these things, simply because it is my duty. Out- 
 side Great Britain I shall be free." 
 
 He had spoken with vehemence, and both Mr. 
 and Mrs. Benson looked serious. 
 
 " What is in the wind, Frank ? " asked the 
 father, with the wisdom of long business ex- 
 perience. " You are not well, my boy," said the 
 mother anxiously. 
 
 " Let me be quite serious, daddy. And don't be 
 too upset at what I am going to say, dear mother," 
 said Frank after a long pause. " Being in Man- 
 chester, among busy men, I am compelled to live 
 extravagantly. My club is indispensable to my 
 local literary connection, and there are frequent 
 visits to the theatres, public dinners, holidays, 
 clothes. All these mean expense, and I am grow- 
 ingly conscious of the fact that I live outside my 
 income. This is unfair to you, and I am deter- 
 mined to remove the encumbrance of my excesses 
 from your shoulders." 
 
 "My dear lad," replied Mr. Benson kindly, "you 
 exaggerate the case. One would think to hear you 
 talk that you were earning nothing, and that we 
 were bearing the whole of your expenses. And 
 these you sadly overestimate. You are very frugal 
 indeed, and I boast that my son is one of the 
 most abstemious young men on the Manchester 
 press." 
 
 Benson rose from the table. His face had 
 softened, and he laid his hand lovingly on his 
 mother's shoulder. 
 
 " I must go to the club to-night. We will talk 
 again to-morrow. We have Maclaren down on a 
 
 is
 
 A Possible Remedy 
 
 lecturing tour, and it will be a big occasion at 
 Princess Street." 
 
 The moon was shining brightly as he walked 
 along the side of the Green. A shower had broken 
 the splendour of the afternoon, and now the roads 
 glistened with patches of silver. He could not 
 forget his story of the fields. Still the lines 
 
 " I praise most the bud of my breast, 
 The flower that is emblem of rest" 
 
 ran through his mind like a refrain. He looked at 
 the huge buildings on either side of him. The 
 moon had flecked the parapets and sills with white, 
 but they seemed to Benson to be of stern height 
 and threatening appearance. He admitted to him- 
 self reluctantly that he was tired of the city. This 
 knowledge only served to disquiet him. How long 
 would the mood last ? He wondered what he 
 should do away from his home, his parents, his 
 associates, his beloved friends. As he walked 
 steadily towards the centre of the town he con- 
 stantly murmured a few favourite lines from 
 Stephen Phillips : 
 
 " Remember how on the warm beach we sat 
 By the old barque, and in the smell of tar ; 
 While the full ocean on the pebbles dropped, 
 And in our ears the intimate low wind 
 Of noon, that breathing from some ancient place, 
 Blew on us merest sleep and pungent youth? 
 
 How those verses haunted him ! The smell of 
 tar and the sound of the ocean, with the wind 
 rippling gaily by ! That was what he wanted the 
 
 '9
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 shore, the coast, the sea. He must get away from 
 the town, abandon this incessant round of duties, 
 and seek the natural solitudes of life. He must 
 go to some place where men live simply, face to 
 face with the phenomena of created things. And 
 why not Liberia ? If he desired to write there 
 he could do so, quietly, restfully. In any case 
 it would be a change from his present sordid 
 career. 
 
 He had resolved upon the place with sudden in- 
 stinct ; but now he recognised the fact that some- 
 where in the under-chambers of his mind his 
 destination had been irrevocably fixed since the 
 hour in which he met Denley in Liverpool. Other 
 people had visited the West Coast of Africa, and 
 returned to England strong and well. Why 
 shouldn't he ? In Grand Bassa he would have the 
 sea always with him, and flowers and greenness 
 everywhere. For him, observer of human nature 
 in all its varied aspects, no place could be better 
 fitted. If the trial proved a failure he could always 
 come home and recuperate, finally returning to his 
 position on the local press. 
 
 When he reached the club he immediately 
 sought the library, and wrote impetuously to 
 Denley, proffering his services at a nominal salary. 
 The assembly room was crowded with visitors, and 
 he did not wish to commence a search for his 
 friend. He listened for a time to the lecturer, and 
 then entered the smoking-apartment. It was re- 
 marked that he had rarely been in such excellent 
 spirits before. 
 
 During the next few days he was very busy. 
 From the firm at Fane Street he received a ready 
 
 20
 
 A Possible Remedy 
 
 acceptance of his offer, and it was urged that he 
 should be prepared to sail with Arthur Clayton, 
 their new assistant, by the Sobo, on the following 
 Saturday. 
 
 Mrs. Benson was tearful, and Mr. Benson did 
 not fully approve. But Frank had never been in 
 the habit of announcing his movements long in 
 advance. His reputation for eccentricity was 
 fully maintained now. He advised all his pub- 
 lishers of his departure for " West Africa," but 
 he did not explain his intentions to any one of 
 them. 
 
 He had to pack his trunks and make special 
 purchases from the warehouses. The majority of 
 his belongings he left behind, and at the bottom of 
 his largest box he only placed such books as he in- 
 timately cared for. There were half a dozen novels, 
 two or three volumes of verse, and his own rough 
 manuscripts. A few nick-nacks in porcelain, a 
 dozen or more photos, and a couple of his boyish 
 paintings he particularly reserved. His other 
 possessions he left without the slightest feeling 
 of pain. 
 
 Finally he took his favourite walks, enjoying 
 acutely the recollections that thronged around him 
 at each beloved spot. From the tops of the cars he 
 looked fondly at the old familiar places, and his 
 face beamed as he realised that he was going away 
 to a simpler life. It was only now that he was on 
 the point of leaving civilisation behind him that he 
 realised the splendour of his native town. The 
 early morning sun was shining, and the roofs of 
 the great buildings were faintly tinged with rosy 
 fire. The streets were beginning to fill. The 
 
 21
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 animation of the open air the sentient panorama 
 that covers the tragedy and comedy of life was 
 around him, and he became sharply interested in 
 the most trivial incidents. He could not wonder 
 that men were enthralled with the stupendous 
 events of the cities ; but he sighed contentedly as 
 he thought that to-morrow morning his trial of 
 change would begin. 
 
 Very wisely he bade his parents "good-bye" at 
 the door of his home. This had been his own 
 dictate. Mrs. Benson was almost prostrated with 
 grief at the parting, but she was sustained some- 
 what by her husband's cheery optimism. " We 
 shall have the lad home again soon, bright and 
 well," he declared. He shook Frank's hand 
 heartily at the door of the hansom after his 
 luggage had been safely deposited on the roof, and 
 supported his wife into the house. A little knot 
 of people stood at the corner of the street, and 
 wished him a hearty " God speed." Frank's eyes 
 were dim with tears. 
 
 As he drove to the station he kept a brisk look- 
 out on the streets. There was the interminable 
 noise of wheels, the sharp clack of voices, the 
 ceaseless clamour of life. He got into the train 
 almost mechanically. To the porter who labelled 
 his luggage, and hoped that the Coast would 
 agree with his health, he felt almost grateful. In 
 Liverpool, impelled onward to the docks, he 
 saw the same excited crowds, the same busy 
 rush. He turned to a magazine for relief, and 
 was glad when the cab stopped at the Prince's 
 landing-stage. 
 
 The Mersey was veiled in a grey mist, and out 
 
 22
 
 A Possible Remedy 
 
 of it the Sobo came like a huge phantom ship. 
 There was a delicious coolness in the atmosphere, 
 and the sun would shortly dispel the vapours. 
 Benson drew in the breeze in gusts ; and almost 
 resented the appearance of his fellow-traveller near 
 the gangway. He was about the same age, but of 
 ordinary appearance and apparently imbued with 
 a sense of his own importance. His boxes were 
 marked conspicuously in white paint " A. C.," 
 and he introduced himself by name to Benson 
 as " Clayton of Longsight. Glad to meet you, 
 old boy, and hope we'll pull together all right. 
 First time on the Coast ? Same here. But 
 I'll get through and have a good time, I'll be 
 bound." 
 
 As the sun shone royally over the city the 
 water showed up more clearly. Amid the noise 
 and rush of departing people Benson had his 
 luggage carried on board. Clayton's friends were 
 largely in evidence, bidding him farewell, so 
 Frank went below to view his cabin. Every- 
 thing moved. The stewards were passing busily 
 from corridor to corridor. Benson thrilled with 
 excitement at the scene around him. He felt 
 supremely happy. 
 
 Presently the captain's stentorian voice cried out 
 that friends must go ashore, and there was a rush 
 for the gangways. Just then Denley appeared. 
 He had been delayed, he said, in Manchester, but 
 wished to give his young friends a parting word. 
 " Keep your health, Benson, my boy, and don't fail 
 to write regularly," he cried, as the anchors clattered 
 at their chains. There was a scarcely perceptible 
 movement. The engines throbbed ; and gradually 
 
 23
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 the steamer made her way through the river into 
 the open sea. Benson's eyes to the last were fixed 
 on the fast receding shore ; and when the land line 
 had disappeared into the misty horizon, he turned 
 away from the deck-rail with a sigh.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE OPTIMISM OF YOUTH 
 
 " It is restful to find a centre around which enthusiasm, youth, 
 and pleasure can group themselves " 
 
 Written from Grand Canary and Sierra Leone 
 
 " MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, 
 
 "In accordance with my promise, I now have 
 delight in working up the miscellaneous informa- 
 tion collected during the last fortnight. We are to 
 be at the Islands for a couple of days, so I intend, 
 after an examination of my environs, to keep my 
 room in the hotel, and elaborate, for your edifica- 
 tion, the rough notes taken from day to day since 
 the 4th instant. 
 
 " It is now seven o'clock in the morning, and 
 except for the intervals of meals, I mean to stick to 
 this pen until the evening, when in the quiet of the 
 gloaming I shall examine the claims to the affection 
 and regard of visitors of Grand Canary. 
 
 "Then I shall put myself to bed, beneath the 
 mosquito curtain, and dream of Home, Sweet 
 Home. 
 
 " Captain Holgate was right in promising that we 
 should have good weather. Our first afternoon 
 was fresh and sweet. What a fine sight the docks 
 of Liverpool made from the swiftly receding ship ! 
 
 25
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 White handkerchiefs could be seen waving amid 
 the moving panorama of the ships and the boats ; 
 and try as 1 would, I couldn't keep the lump from 
 rising to my throat, as I gave my last look for so 
 many months on the dear old country that gave me 
 birth. What a roar and deep-sounding boom the 
 docks had been giving off for the last two hours ! 
 But now as we crossed the Bar the noise calmed 
 down into a languorous murmur, and then finally 
 died away. 
 
 "And now having said * good-bye' to Lancashire, 
 I turned my attention to the ship. Contrary to 
 my expectation, its 5,200 tons made only a very 
 modest appearance. Nevertheless, it was a grand 
 vessel, redolent of comfort, and fitted up in the 
 best style. My berth was in a very good position, 
 and my cabin was shared by Mr. Clayton. I have 
 kept a rough diary throughout, and will briefly run 
 over the events. In the meantime, let me tersely 
 describe the routine of the ship. Don't, pray, for 
 one moment think that my days have been entirely 
 given over to idleness, for I have been on the alert 
 all the time, and have collected some valuable facts 
 regarding the life I am (God willing !) to lead until 
 my call comes for home and mother-country. 
 Coffee is supplied in the saloon every morning 
 between 6.30 and 7. I never went for this, but 
 I was always called at seven o'clock for a sea- 
 water (cold) bath. I found these ablutions very 
 helpful and healthy, and the doctor recommends 
 me to continue them. 
 
 " Sometimes after the bath I would dress and walk 
 the deck for an hour. More frequently I returned 
 to bed and rested not sleeping until eight o'clock, 
 
 26
 
 The Optimism of Youth 
 
 at which hour a bugler called us by a loud blast 
 from the hurricane deck. Breakfast at 8.30 ; lunch 
 at i ; a cup of tea (very refreshing) at 4 ; and 
 dinner at 7. The electric light is turned off in the 
 cabin at 10.30 each night ; and after dinner I usually 
 sat on deck in a comfortable chair, chatting with an 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " We had only one bad night, and that was on 
 Thursday last. As we steamed down the Irish 
 Sea and entered the English Channel, the weather 
 was what the second mate termed 'just a trifle 
 fresh.' The Sobo, I found, was only on her second 
 trip, and had not yet received her f christening ' at 
 the hands of Father Neptune. She was evidently 
 a very dry craft, for she vaulted the waves in fine 
 style, and rose over the foam like a kite. 
 
 " I soon grew accustomed to the regime of meals, 
 and well within the first week had become familiar 
 with ( all the great ones of the earth ' or the sea ; 
 which is it, pray ? Goodness ! What with concerts 
 and balls, I hardly knew whether I stood on my 
 head or my heels. One of the passengers was the 
 please get ready for the title Honourable Colonel 
 Scott Russell, and another was a black potentate 
 of the coast, at whose very wink the kruboys 
 tremble and the Yorubas faint. 
 
 " My waltzing never was very great, but some 
 of the ladies soon found me out, and if the dancing 
 wasn't altogether satisfactory, the tete-a-tete after- 
 wards invariably was. 
 
 " And here let me say a few words about the 
 passengers whom we had on board the Sobo. The 
 black prince mentioned aforetime was accompanied 
 by his secretary also a native whose manners 
 
 27
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 were immaculate, and who occupied the same cabin 
 as his chief. Then there was a black lady, bound 
 for Lagos, who spoke to me very kindly several 
 times. Most interesting of all were three honey- 
 moon couples, bound for Grand Canary. Their 
 enthusiasm for each other's company, and their 
 extreme exclusiveness from intrusion, gave the 
 game away at once. They were wont to pace about 
 upon the hurricane deck when the moon, 
 
 ' Pale pilgrim of the night] 
 
 came out upon her nightly vigil. 
 
 "Perhaps the most delightful meal of the day 
 was dinner. We had each an appointed place, and, 
 therefore, I invariably had the same vis-a-vis. 
 Opposite were a young lieutenant and his wife, a 
 pretty girl of not more than twenty-three. This 
 gentleman's conversation was very entertaining, and 
 his wife's witty repartee was quite epigrammatic. 
 He had only been home from the war about six 
 months, and was on his way to Sierra Leone, where 
 he is now at his own station. He is to serve 
 here for six years, on and off. He informed us 
 quite frankly and openly that he had only been 
 married a few months, and that his wife had 
 determined to sacrifice the possibility of illness 
 in order that she might be constantly by his side. 
 
 "What a gallant girl ! I wonder how many there 
 are of our modern society ladies who would brave 
 the danger of a ruined complexion for love of a 
 husband ? What girl would sacrifice the joys and 
 pleasures of civilised intercourse to spend her time 
 with humble me amid the ignorances and the 
 superstitions of the blacks ? 
 
 28
 
 The Optimism of Youth 
 
 "And this gentleman's talk was highly instructive 
 too. I loved to turn the current of his thoughts 
 upon the recent war, and glean items relating to 
 the character of the Boers. 
 
 "Peculiarly enough, he referred to them in terms 
 of great tolerance, and declared that they had 
 always treated him with cordiality and respect. He 
 spent last Christmas Eve with an old-established 
 family whose house was near his outposts, and 
 his companions organised all the ancient English 
 customs they could think of. A yule-log was lit, 
 and they played * Postman's Knock,' ' Hunt the 
 Slipper,' etc., ad libitum. He said that the Boers 
 were greatly pleased, and entered into the games 
 with much zest. Most touching of all was the 
 following event, and he recorded the fact with 
 evident feeling. At the close of the festivities, 
 when the morning sun was melting the grey mists 
 of Christmas Day, a little native girl was placed 
 upon the table, and sang in a clear, sweet voice 
 our National Anthem, ' God Save the King.' 
 
 " Lieutenant Phelan avowed that he took this as 
 the most delicate compliment they could possibly 
 have rendered to his men, and in recognition of 
 their loyalty he sang the Boer native hymn. He 
 laughingly announced to us that he only knew the 
 tune and a word here and there, being further 
 utterly unaware of their meaning. But, with a 
 twinkle in his eye, he said that what was lacking 
 in musical expression was amply atoned for by his 
 men in volume and vigour of sound ! 
 
 " Of the second-class saloon I saw a great deal. 
 There were five Welshmen bound for the Gold 
 Coast, at which place they expected to make their 
 
 29
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 fortunes. Like the majority of the inhabitants of 
 hilly Wales, they had fine tenor voices, and made 
 an admirable quintette for the singing of Welsh 
 harmonies, and they were greatly in demand at the 
 concerts. Then there were eight engineers of the 
 Army Staff, journeying to Lagos. Their colonel 
 was one of our first-class passengers, and a smart, 
 manly soldier. 
 
 " Mr. Denley's black boy ' Coffee ' travelled in 
 the second saloon. Of course, I have cultivated 
 his acquaintance. He is a bright, intelligent lad, 
 and promises to be a faithful servant and friend. 
 For his pleasure I have played several games of 
 chess with him, and he is quite an expert at this 
 and all other similar pastimes. You should just 
 see him playing ping-pong ! 
 
 " * Me like England,' he says. c It is so full of 
 nice people. You are kind to Coffee, and Coffee 
 like white massa who is kind to him.' Unfor- 
 tunately, he is Mr. Denley's personal valet, but 
 my superior has lent him to me during the time 
 of my stay in Liberia. 
 
 " You would really be surprised how the time 
 flies on board. If you do not work (or play) the 
 hours naturally drag, but if you are determined 
 to be useful and pleasant to your fellows, and keep 
 all the faculties on the alert for the collection of 
 sundry observations, it is night before you have 
 done one half of what you had intended. All the 
 passengers on board the Sobo were bright, sparkling 
 people, or, at least, I thought them so, and that is 
 the same thing. They were happy themselves, and 
 determined to make everybody else happy ; so 
 what more could one desire ? 
 
 30
 
 The Optimism of Youth 
 
 " 1 have had some excellent pistol practice during 
 the last fortnight, and am becoming quite a capable 
 shot. Upon principle, I would not aim at sea- 
 gulls : innocent enough birds, who have as much 
 right to live as I or any other living thing. But 
 I have killed about seven whisky bottles, which, 
 by the way, is a record worthy of the notice of the 
 Total Abstinence League ! What say you ? All 
 the great men on board (excluding myself, who 
 daren't publicly lay claim to the adjective) had 
 claret or whisky at dinner, and the stewards made 
 me a free present of the empty bottles. I used 
 to cork them tightly, then fling them overboard. 
 Immediately they were dancing away on the waves, 
 and after a few shots I ultimately perforated the 
 glass, which then sank. Admirable practice, and 
 (thank the powers) innocent enough too. 
 
 "Perhaps my happiest hours have been spent 
 ' forrard ' and * aft.' (Don't be afraid : that is sea- 
 man's English.) After dinner I would carry a 
 deck-chair on to the larboard, and sit there in the 
 moonlight, watching the witching glamour of silvery 
 light on the waves, until warned by the bell to 
 retire. 
 
 " Later. On this particular evening we have had 
 our fourth concert. Good talent was on board, and 
 we heard some excellent songs. Other concerts 
 have been organised since then, and by the time 
 we reach Sierra (to-morrow) we promise to become 
 a very merry and friendly party. We two pilgrims 
 Clayton and myself will have to disembark 
 here, while the other passengers, bound for other 
 large towns on the coast, continue their journey on 
 the Sobo. Here we may remain a couple of days
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 waiting for the Angola^ which will carry us to 
 Grand Bassa. I shall be glad when I am at the 
 end of my passage. A sea voyage, I should 
 imagine, is an excellent tonic ; but really, you 
 know, one can have so much sugar that the sweet- 
 ness cloys. As Solomon sagely remarks, 'A full 
 soul despiseth an honeycomb.' 
 
 " The world never seemed so terribly large as 
 it has done since I journeyed hither. I dare hardly 
 think of the many, many miles (over three thou- 
 sand already) that lie between us. But hoots ! 
 what's the odds so long as we can keep up an un- 
 broken chain of intercourse ? After all, ' absence 
 makes the heart grow fonder.' 
 
 "The captain sang two songs for us at one of 
 the concerts, and accompanied the choruses with 
 a cross between a Highland fling and a French 
 can-can. If you can imagine a sixteen-stone dancer 
 on a rolling ship, pray do so. My poor fragile 
 nib utterly refuses to bear the strain of description, 
 and the reminiscence of the humour and pathos of 
 that particular night is so strong upon me that 
 I can hardly write for laughing. 
 
 " And, by the way, let me remark that laughing 
 is very fatiguing work here. The sun is blazing 
 into this room as though it mistook me for a 
 kettle of water which required boiling without 
 further delay. Think of 130 in the shade, and 
 then conceive the colour of my hands and face ! If 
 I were pale in gelid Manchester, I am like a boiled 
 lobster here for colour. Yet (thank God !) I feel 
 that I can stand it ; so, what's the weep ? 
 
 " I was literally astounded at the mass of useful 
 matter that can be acquired on board an African
 
 The Optimism of Youth 
 
 vessel. It is on board these steamers that the be- 
 ginner meets the old coaster, and from him receives 
 hints which are priceless. These men talk things 
 over during meals, and the result is that I knew 
 Sierra Leone long before I hailed it on the far 
 horizon. 
 
 " I wrote you a short note from Las Palmas, 
 which I hope you received safely. My mind is 
 eagerly clamouring to describe the happy day I 
 spent there, so I will commence straightway. 
 
 " We had been told on Thursday night, the 9th 
 inst., that we should sight the Canary Isles before 
 the dawn, so my love of the beautiful immediately 
 cried aloud for a hearing. I remained on deck, 
 nicely ensconced in a comfortable deck-chair, await- 
 ing the break o' day. 
 
 " My pencil has maybe lost a little of its facility 
 of description during the last two years, owing to 
 my negligence in literary matters ; but I really 
 must essay to limn the beauty of the picture which 
 the grey dawn revealed. For many hours I had 
 been waiting, waiting, waiting, surrounded by the 
 densest gloom, and when at last a faint heliotrope 
 film rose slowly upward from the sea, I gave a sigh 
 of satisfaction, for I knew that the dawn had come 
 at last. Only a mile or so ahead I could see the 
 dim outline of the hills of Las Palmas, wrapped in 
 a fleecy cloud of vapour. As the sun appeared 
 this gradually melted away, and the black of the 
 peaks changed to a faint yellowy tinge. Then 
 suddenly, so silently and swiftly that the trans- 
 formation appeared to be almost instantaneous, the 
 yellow changed to amber, the amber to rose, and the 
 rose to the golden glory of a summer morning, 
 c 33
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 "And then in all the splendour of its verdure 
 appeared the pretty island of the sea. The grass 
 could be seen covering the slope of the hills, darker 
 than that seen in England, and lacking some- 
 what of its dewy freshness, but nevertheless abun- 
 dant and rich. Feathery palms threw high their 
 heads to the tender sky, and above the vari- 
 coloured, antique houses on the slope of the valley 
 appeared the purple of the mountains, their sum- 
 mits tinged with opal fire. 
 
 "After witnessing this glorious dawn I descended 
 to my cabin for a wash, and when I came on deck 
 again I saw a sight worthy of the brush of Luke 
 Fildes. Such noise, and hurry, and bustle ! And 
 such colour ! 
 
 " ' Up in the darksome North 
 
 Pinched is the day and pale ; 
 Never a bud looks forth, 
 
 Nor a nightingale. 
 Passion and joy and song 
 
 Home in the golden South, 
 Where the flowers and tJie men are young, 
 
 Where the world has youth? 
 
 (Mrs. Hinkson will forgive the misquotation.) 
 
 " Oh ! the pretty children ! Eyes like stars, and 
 complexions like a rich damask rose. The hair is 
 generally a rich black ; but occasionally you see a 
 curly head of ripe auburn, flushed here and there 
 into a delicate red an effect which is really won- 
 derful. 
 
 "We had anchored about a quarter of a mile 
 from the shore, and the ship was surrounded with 
 boats, full of merchandise. In some of these small 
 barques were naked little fellows of anything be- 
 
 34
 
 The Optimism of Youth 
 
 tween the ages of seven and sixteen, the morning 
 sun flashing upon their brown backs. 
 
 "'Throw sissipence in ze water, and me dive 
 for it.' 
 
 " ' Gimme threepence, sare.' It was a sight 
 worth travelling to see. If a coin were flung into 
 the water, the bodies flashed from the side of each 
 respective boat, and in a few seconds one would 
 triumphantly return with the sixpence in his mouth. 
 The water is peculiarly translucent quite pellucid 
 in fact and the passengers could follow the course 
 of their passage under the surface. 
 
 " But we were anxious to get ashore in order to 
 explore the islands, so for the moderate fee of one 
 shilling per head we were rowed to land. Here we 
 hailed a vehicle, something like an English trap, 
 covered with an awning. After a rather heated 
 negotiation the driver agreed to take six of us 
 round the islands for i. This worked out at 
 three shillings and fourpence per head, so we 
 couldn't grumble, could we ? 
 
 " Let me describe Las Palmas later on, as it was 
 the place from which we sailed. For a special fee 
 we were able to run to TenerifFe, and of this place 
 I shall endeavour to say as much as I can, although 
 I was there only a very short time. As you 
 approach it the island presents a revelation of mir- 
 aculous beauty. Before you loom peak beyond 
 peak of mountains, deep ravines showing darkly 
 in their midst, while at the highest altitude emerges 
 the snow-capped summit of the Teide. 
 
 " A little pier shoots out into the sea, flecked 
 with the dusty sails of the small home vessels. 
 But when you finally reach the land you are sadly 
 
 35
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 disappointed. From the distance you had thought 
 the city a marvel of granite and carved stone. 
 What you see is a vulgar little town. But the 
 picturesque squalor amply atones for the first re- 
 vulsion of feeling. With all his many faults the 
 Southerner is a creature to admire. 
 
 " The names of the streets are like a breath of 
 paradise, but the stuffy little alleys are not enchant- 
 ing places. ' Calle de la Luz ' and * Calle de la Cruz 
 Verde ' are two typical examples. But, after all, 
 why should we demand a higher degree of accuracy 
 from these Spaniards than we demonstrate our- 
 selves ? * Paradise Alley ' and c Angel Meadow ' 
 look enticing on paper ; but the real things are, if 
 anything, repellent. 
 
 "We don't often hear good guitar-playing in 
 England. I wonder what is the sorcery of this 
 instrument ? It sorely lacks melody, and contains 
 more wood than is good for its health. Yet, as I 
 heard it played here, by a dark-eyed girl of about 
 nineteen, it seemed to thrill me to the soul. 
 Spanish is a really musical language, and thanks 
 to you, dear parents, I have inherited a good 
 * grip ' in study ; so that I am conversant with 
 this pretty patois. Nimble fingers, and a hollow 
 piece of wood, crossed by half a dozen wires, and a 
 lovely mezzo-soprano voice ! But, what dreams 
 were called up by the harmonies ! 
 
 " The people on these islands are very friendly. 
 They will stop you, and give you a cheery greeting 
 in their own language. I acted in the capacity of 
 interpreter throughout, and my conversation seemed 
 to be a magic key which opened every door. We 
 were ushered into orchards and gardens, and heaps 
 
 36
 
 The Optimism of Youth 
 
 of fruit and flowers were pressed into our arms. 
 We sat for nearly an hour in a lovely bower of 
 carnations, roses, and heliotrope, encompassed by a 
 group of smiling natives. 
 
 " I had to pay rather dearly for the little volume 
 of views which I send herewith. But I was deter- 
 mined to demonstrate the beauty and verdure of 
 Grand Canary in a way which would appeal to you 
 all. Of Las Palmas I shall give you a short 
 account now : English rule is more supreme here 
 than at Teneriffe, and 1 can hardly rejoice in the 
 fact. I am no profligate, but I cannot be so sordid 
 as to see the commercial advantages of the position. 
 To hear English clerks loudly declaiming in the 
 square amid the lisped, languid, and musical 
 vocabulary of the Spaniards seems give me a 
 strong adjective, please simply awful. I love 
 my ancient and native tongue, but the slang and 
 commonplace repartee of these countrymen of mine 
 at Las Palmas seems like a poisonous smell from 
 a lovely flower. 
 
 "The cathedral is a grand building. I backed 
 into the square, and gazed up at its ornamental 
 front as though fascinated. 
 
 " * My dear Benson, do let us get on,' cried my 
 companions, so 1 dragged myself away, with a long, 
 backward glance. 
 
 " There was one discord in this lovely day, which 
 had appeared to me like a glimpse of very heaven. 
 This jar was a visit to the Courts of Justice and 
 the Chamber of Relics. Murderers are strangled 
 in Las Palmas by means of a steel collar like a 
 vice, which is worked by the executioner from the 
 back. Three men were waiting for death when 
 
 37
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 we were in the Courts. The tragedy is public, 
 and thousands flock to see the execution. 
 
 " The officer showed us various daggers and 
 guns, stones and clubs, which had been preserved 
 from the different crimes during the last few years, 
 and in his eloquent language, rich with gesticula- 
 tion, described the events. I was glad to reach the 
 golden sunlight again, and breathe the fresh air of 
 the streets. May God help those three poor men 
 condemned to death ! 
 
 "After leaving Grand Canary we steamed out 
 into the Atlantic again, and commenced our 
 journey down the coast. The average rate of 
 our progress has been 310 miles in the twenty- 
 four hours, so that you see we made great head- 
 way. 
 
 " It was hot at Las Palmas, but the heat increased 
 rapidly as we approached the African continent. 
 Now, it is what Rudyard Kipling would call 
 < Hades distilled.' 
 
 " From the distance the province of Sierra 
 Leone looks perfectly enchanting. I recognised 
 it immediately the dawn revealed the shore, for, 
 as already stated, I have been well coached by the 
 old-time coasters. 
 
 " There before us lay the three large bays : the 
 Kru, the English, and the Pirate. High above 
 them loomed the mighty mountains, whose rumble 
 and noise had decided Pedro do Centra, the dis- 
 coverer of the land, to call the place Sierra Leone, 
 or the Saws of the Lion. 
 
 "I have seen (and felt too !) a goodly number of 
 insects since I arrived here. The atmosphere 
 seems to literally swarm with winged creatures of 
 
 38
 
 The Optimism of Youth 
 
 abnormal size and repulsive appearance. But 1 
 will, no doubt, ultimately conquer my aversion 
 from these parasites ; and if insects are the only 
 deterrents from a happy life on the coast, then 
 I say 
 
 1 Let them come 
 m meet them on their own made ground.' 
 
 " What do you think of this story, though r It 
 was told to us over lunch the other day by a young 
 Scotch gentleman, who has been at various places 
 on the coast for several years. 
 
 " One night he had retired behind his mosquito 
 net as usual. (You understand that all the beds 
 have to be veiled in this way, don't you ?) He 
 had been asleep for nearly an hour when he was 
 aroused by the sound of a falling glass. The light 
 a candle was still burning, and by the dim 
 radiance shed round the chamber by this homely 
 electrolier he saw a milk-jug of moderate size 
 marching towards him. You can just imagine 
 his horror and astonishment. He seemed to be 
 stricken with a dumb terror which was super- 
 natural in its effect. The shadows lay dark in 
 the corners of the room, and no motor power 
 could be seen moving the jug. Gradually it 
 approached. It was within a foot of the bed ere 
 he could pluck up sufficient courage to throw 
 aside his net and look at it closely. Stooping 
 down fearfully, he touched the moving utensil, 
 and the pressure of his hand knocked it over. 
 And there underneath lay revealed the chief actor 
 in this little domestic drama : a prodigious beetle, 
 of such a size that it had been unable to extricate 
 
 39
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 itself from the home which its inordinate curiosity 
 had prompted it to enter. 
 
 "This story may need a trifle more than the 
 proverbial pinch of salt in taking, but the fact 
 cannot be denied that the insects here are of great 
 size : almost big enough to warrant such a startling 
 anecdote as the one just recorded. 
 
 " But, after all, I think that the West Coast, like 
 His Supreme Majesty Satan the Only, is not so 
 black as some folk would represent. Trust me, I 
 will make the best of it, and educate myself for all 
 I am worth. Perhaps I was sent here for a great 
 purpose, for if I can cope with the task, around 
 me lies material for a life's work. 
 
 " Dearest, dearest love, 
 
 " FRANK." 
 
 40
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE FIRST TASTE 
 
 " You will find life full of sweet savour if you do not expect 
 from it what it cannot give " 
 
 T^RANK was not pleased with Freetown, Sierra 
 Leone. At the hotel, antiquated, primitive, 
 comfortless, he breakfasted with Clayton, who ex- 
 pressed himself forcibly upon the point of his 
 dissatisfaction. A few days' delay was inevitable. 
 The Angola, a steamship with a registration of 
 about 3,000 tons, was a cargo boat, heavily bur- 
 dened with iron for the new railway. It would be 
 Monday before Captain Naler prepared to sail. 
 The sight of other steamers in the harbour, 
 panting hurriedly past after the despatch of their 
 mailbags, increased the young men's impatience 
 to be gone. They longed for the Angola to 
 depart in order that they might hasten their 
 voyage from what both had named as a pesti- 
 lential atmosphere. 
 
 Clayton was greatly displeased. He had done 
 nothing but rail since the anchor had been weighed 
 at Liverpool. Benson, picturesque -loving and 
 original, was compelled several times to advise a 
 more optimistic outlook. 
 
 It was over dinner one evening that Frank 
 41
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 received his first insight into the tragedy of the 
 side issues of coast life. Several of the white 
 clerks from one of the large English stores had 
 called in to dine at his request. 
 
 " Ye gods ! how slow it is here ! " exclaimed 
 Clayton, with a yawn, as he sipped his Chartreuse. 
 
 "You must cultivate the acquaintance of the 
 ladies when you arrive in Bassa, old boy," said 
 Taylor, the most flippant of the visitors. " It is 
 the only thing that makes life worth living on the 
 West Coast. I have heard it said that the girls of 
 Liberia are unusually pretty for negresses. I 
 know that the ones in Sierra Leone are just de- 
 lightful." 
 
 Clayton's face assumed a more animated appear- 
 ance. The young clerk laughed heartily. He 
 turned to one of his companions 
 
 " Down in Lagos last year 1 had a jolly little 
 native girl. I was with Mclvers at the time. The 
 place is quite different from what you would 
 imagine grey and dusty and dim. There is plenty 
 of life and movement, but it is of a really depress- 
 ing kind. The women, however, are bright and 
 sparkling. This little girl of whom I am speaking 
 followed me on to the steamer, and declared that 
 she would commit suicide if I didn't take her to 
 England. Such a ridiculous demand, you know ! " 
 
 There was a laugh in which Frank did not join. 
 
 "Any child?" asked Finlay of the Coaling 
 Company carelessly. 
 
 " Yes. She swore it was mine exclusively ; and 
 I'm inclined to think that she spoke the truth." 
 
 He patted Clayton on the shoulder in friendly 
 fashion. 
 
 42
 
 The First Taste 
 
 " A man with such physical charms as you 
 possess might make countless conquests. It was 
 only recently that an agent in Monrovia wasn't 
 it Monrovia, Finlay ? attempted to shoot his 
 English wife because he preferred one of the local 
 Liberian women." 
 
 Benson was conscious of a feeling of intense 
 irritation at the turn the conversation had taken. 
 After the wine had been removed he sat at the 
 window and gazed out into the blackness of the 
 night. The insects kept up their endless humming, 
 and far below the bull-frogs were rendering a dismal 
 chorus. 
 
 The Angola lifted her blue-peter early on Monday 
 morning, and he cheerfully paid the exorbitant bill 
 presented by the Dutch proprietor of the hotel. 
 What luggage the two men had brought ashore was 
 taken on board again as quickly as practicable, and 
 the steamer pursued her course. At Monrovia, the 
 capital of Liberia, she remained a day discharging 
 her cargo. Clayton landed in a dug-out canoe, 
 being curious and pleasure-fond ; but Benson did 
 not feel inclined to go ashore. He sat on the 
 deck gazing idly at the busy mates as they con- 
 ducted the discharge of the innumerable bales and 
 cases. Grand Bassa was only sixty miles further 
 down the coast, and the captain assured him that 
 they would reach the harbour early in the morning 
 of the next day. 
 
 Frank's first impressions of his new home were 
 of gently undulating hills to the north and of a 
 long reef of rocks to the south. The coastline 
 appeared deliciously green, and was picked out 
 here and there by the dazzlingly white roofs of 
 
 43
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 factories. One of the firm's boats was there to 
 row them ashore, and the kruboys sang out their 
 opinion of the new men as they lay back on their 
 oars. The language was unintelligible to both, 
 and their equanimity was in no way disturbed by 
 the free reference to their peculiarities : " Massa 
 Benson get long hair him face fine we like him 
 much. Massa Clayton wear big collar plenty 
 rich but no fine." 
 
 Mr. Wrigley, the agent, met them on the beach. 
 He was a little wiry man with iron-grey whiskers 
 all round his face. These took away a great part 
 of his dignity ; but his eyes were kind. He shook 
 hands as though he meant to express a genuine 
 pleasure. Frank determined to like him, and 
 viewed the house with a natural and instinctive 
 approval. 
 
 The Atlantic House was sturdily built upon a 
 strong foundation of cement, and was supported 
 by iron pillars. It looked as though it had been 
 frequently altered and improved. Viewed from 
 the front, it ran into unexpected corners and angles. 
 A wide piazza faced the upper windows, and this 
 jutted out near the dining-room doors into an open- 
 air smoking apartment. The stores were under- 
 neath the house, and dainty offices with mullioned 
 windows hung over the yard. There were four 
 bedrooms, and as Benson looked at his luggage 
 and anon surveyed the white walls, he felt thankful 
 that he had carried with him some little tokens of 
 home life. The yard was wide and spacious, and 
 covered with a soft brown sand. A score or more 
 of natives were laying out strands of fibre in rows 
 of candid inexactness to dry in the sun. Near 
 
 44
 
 The First Taste 
 
 the outlying buildings were groups of Liberians, in 
 European dress, talking volubly. 
 
 During the first few weeks of his residence in 
 Bassa, Frank had a continuous sense of insecurity. 
 Sometimes he would almost expect to see a black 
 face reflected from his mirror, so used did he 
 become to ebon skins. He liked the place, and 
 soon grew to admire the people. They were very 
 hospitable, and he found a little patch of garden 
 round all the cottages. There were lilac and aloes, 
 and everywhere the bush was starred with red and 
 white blooms. The charm of the place seemed to 
 obsess him, and years after his return to England 
 he would find himself repeating snatches of verse 
 that he had written or left unwritten on the 
 shore and in the woods. 
 
 " Where the ocean strikes the beach 
 In one long, impassioned reach 
 Of surf: where rocks are each by each 
 Submerged, I lie 
 Wonderingly 
 Watching while the boats skim by. 
 
 " Where the lighthouse proudly stands, 
 Wrought by patient, horny hands, 
 Where the ripples kiss the sands, 
 
 There I lie, 
 
 Sea and sky 
 Locked in one harmoniously. 
 
 " Breezes from the coastline rush, 
 Sobbing as they strike the b^tsh, 
 Then anon to silence hush, 
 While Hie 
 Contentedly 
 Looking upward at the sky. 
 
 45
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " Long lost memories arise, 
 Bringing tender melodies 
 And a mist before my eyes, 
 
 As I lie, 
 
 'Neath the sky, 
 Dreaming while the boats skim by." 
 
 He had not been in Grand Bassa two weeks 
 before he began to know by name every one of the 
 local people, Liberians and krumen, Vey and Bassa 
 natives. Meantime, he and Clayton were thrown 
 much together. They talked in the evenings on 
 the piazza, and listened to each other with patience 
 and some little show of admiration. Frank's 
 pliant and artistic nature contrasted strongly with 
 the egotism of the other man ; but he gave more 
 attention to Clayton's affairs than Clayton's selfish- 
 ness would permit him to extend to Frank's. 
 Benson was quiet, reserved, sympathetic ; Clayton 
 was loud, conceited, austere. 
 
 The journalist had taken over the duties of 
 book-keeper and correspondent. Clayton was 
 placed in the store in the capacity of assistant. He 
 had early accepted the advice of his Sierra Leone 
 acquaintances. Ere a month had passed he had 
 founded his establishment. With the aid of a 
 witch-doctor he bought a wife, paying the usual 
 fee of one hundred dollars, a live bullock, and two 
 tiger's teeth. To procure the latter articles occa- 
 sioned him some little trouble, but he paid liberally 
 for them. The result was that Sarnie, a Vey native, 
 was in palpable evidence before the rains had 
 passed. 
 
 Benson thoroughly disapproved ; but he realised 
 his inability to prevent this development. From 
 
 46
 
 The First Taste 
 
 the first Sarnie charmed him, and his love of the 
 beautiful almost persuaded him to resent Clayton's 
 possession of her body. For to her white husband 
 she was never anything other than a plaything. 
 And Clayton had left an English girl behind him 
 in Manchester. With her he freely corresponded, 
 and he assured Frank that he should marry her on 
 his return. The journalist protested. 
 
 " Nonsense," declared the stores-clerk humor- 
 ously. " You are much too scrupulous. Samie 
 is a dear little thing, but she can never have a 
 permanent place in my life." 
 
 " Doesn't she bore you at times ? You do not 
 know a word of Vey, and the girl cannot speak 
 English." 
 
 " No. In her silence lies the charm. She never 
 quarrels or argues with me." 
 
 Frank smiled. " She cannot talk about herself 
 to you, that is true. On the other hand, she will 
 listen while you talk about yourself. I daresay 
 she keeps up an appearance of being interested in 
 your conversation ? At least she will never make 
 stupid remarks, and I couldn't safely maintain that 
 position for myself." 
 
 " And she can never say unkind things to me. 
 She does not tell me of my failings, nor upbraid me 
 because of my faults." 
 
 They laughed together. Then Frank said quite 
 seriously, " Be good to the girl, Clayton. I can see 
 the fascination of her presence for myself. When 
 one is in sorrow or distress a silent companion who 
 is sympathetic and gentle is to be preferred before a 
 garrulous one. Men cannot bear clever women. 
 And in the eyes of a woman the ideal man is not 
 
 47
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 a genius. We love anything that is primitive and 
 quaint. In Sarnie's ignorance of English lies one 
 of her greatest charms." 
 
 Throughout the first few months of his stay in 
 Grand Bassa, Benson saw very little of the black 
 girl, for Clayton kept her in Veytown among her 
 own people. But the frequent absences from the 
 house, after business hours, of the young clerk, 
 and his occasional references to her in conversation, 
 were evidences of her existence and influence. 
 
 One day, about this time, Benson was sent into 
 Buchanan, the more fashionable part of the town, to 
 pay to the Government the duties on imported 
 goods. The agent requested that he should call at 
 the house of one of their most influential traders, 
 and cultivate his acquaintance. As he walked 
 along the path he watched everything with eager 
 pleasure. He never tired of the beauties of the 
 vegetation. A certain love of the original in his 
 nature had endeared him to the hearts of Liberians 
 and natives alike. He was greeted on every side 
 as he strolled leisurely forward in the direction 
 indicated by Mr. Wrigley. The sun was shining 
 strongly, and a faint breeze stirred the trees. 
 
 He disposed of his task at the Treasury Depart- 
 ment, and then set forth to find the house of 
 Joseph Summerton. He made a few cursory 
 inquiries, and the house was pointed out to him 
 further down the road. There were flowers in 
 every wayside garden, and he plucked a spray of 
 blossom from an overhanging tree. Here and 
 there he caught sight of a woolly head as a little 
 one rushed precipitately into the house to call 
 the attention of those inside. Bright black and 
 
 48
 
 The First Taste 
 
 brown faces were at almost all the doors, and he 
 had the soul of a child as he continued his way. 
 
 The house of Joseph Summerton was a large 
 zinc-roofed one, with neatly whitewashed walls and 
 latticed windows. There were blossoms twining 
 around the piazza, and stray buds in the garden. 
 A huge palm sheltered it from the more ardent 
 rays of the sun. He opened the little gate, and 
 stepped across the enclosure on to a little path that 
 led to the house. While he ascended the few stairs 
 he was quick to note that the parlour was neatly 
 furnished. A carpet was on the floor, and every- 
 thing was beautifully clean. Two genuine oil- 
 paintings hung over the dark oaken mantelpiece, 
 and pretty vases were on the sideboard, full of 
 lilies. He knocked at the door and waited. Then 
 he heard light footsteps descending the stairs, and 
 a sweet voice cried, "All right, mother. I'll go." 
 
 In another few seconds a girl appeared, and 
 Frank guessed instinctively that she was a daughter 
 of the house. She was pretty and young. He 
 had never possessed a sister, so he was a poor judge 
 of age ; but he could not think her more than six- 
 teen or seventeen. That there was negro blood in 
 her veins he could not fail to observe, but he mar- 
 velled at the exquisite fairness of her skin. From 
 experience he knew many Liberians to be nearly 
 white, and this girl possessed a face that was almost 
 thoroughly Caucasian. Her eyes were brown and 
 soft, her lashes peculiarly long and dark, and her 
 hair was of a silky black. This hung in long 
 ripples around her shoulders, and her white dress 
 was open at the throat. He spoke a few casual 
 words, and her white teeth flashed at him several 
 
 D 49
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 times. Her smile was intoxicating. She wore a 
 sash of dark crimson round her waist, and her feet 
 were bare. 
 
 " May I see Mr. Summerton ? " asked Benson 
 politely. 
 
 " Daddy is at the farm to-day ; but he will be 
 back in about half an hour. Do you want to see 
 him ? . . . Aren't you Mr. Benson from the 
 English factory ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Benson ; " and I should like to see 
 your father very much." 
 
 " You see, we hear all about the white people in 
 Buchanan, even if we do not know them. I recog- 
 nised at once that you were Mr. Benson and not 
 Mr. Clayton." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Frank, with a laugh. 
 
 " Oh ! because you are so different from each 
 other." 
 
 She paused with a blush. Her English was 
 singularly pure, and Frank found himself looking 
 at her wonderingly. 
 
 " But come round to the summer-house until 
 daddy comes, and I will give you a cup of coffee." 
 
 She walked in front of him with easy grace, and 
 Benson was again impressed with a sense of her 
 extreme youth. 
 
 From the front the house looked on to the sea ; 
 at the back was a wide stretch of open country. 
 Here among the flowers and the trees she gave 
 him a dainty little repast. Benson asked himself 
 what her name could be, and why Mrs. Summerton 
 did not put in an appearance. 
 
 When the trader arrived he found them deep in 
 conversation upon books and England, flowers and 
 
 5
 
 The First Taste 
 
 the locality. He was a fine old mulatto, slim, well- 
 built, and keen-eyed. His hair was almost white, 
 and his face was clean-shaven. The colour of his 
 skin was a mid-brown, pleasant to behold and 
 healthy in appearance. He looked rather blankly 
 at Benson, but the girl quickly introduced him. 
 Summerton smiled delightedly. 
 
 " I have heard great things of you," he said, 
 " and I should like to have you here for a few 
 days. I must come down and see Wrigley. He 
 promised to let me have a white man as pupil." 
 
 Then he turned to the girl. " Is mother resting? 
 You must make a friend of Mr. Benson." He 
 took Frank by the arm in a friendly manner. " I 
 suppose you heard at the factory that I had a little 
 daughter ? Lily is well up to date, I can tell you, 
 and is asking me all the time to take her to 
 England. But I'm becoming too old for the jour- 
 ney now. You see, my mother was a French- 
 woman, and my wife's family is connected with the 
 same nation. Lily has the restless blood of white 
 people in her veins, and see England she must, 
 sooner or later." 
 
 The girl looked humorously across at Benson. 
 She was swinging along on the other side of the 
 old trader, and her laughter rippled out in little 
 snatches. 
 
 " Oh, daddy ! don't talk so much about it. I 
 really believe it is your enthusiasm for white 
 culture that has made me long so much to see the 
 white man's country."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 A CONVERSATION 
 
 " The highest and most profitable lesson is the true knowledge 
 and lowliest esteem of ourselves " 
 
 "AND how do you like Grand Bassa, Mr. 
 Benson ? " asked Summerton, as they seated 
 themselves on the piazza and looked out across 
 the harbour. 
 
 " Very much," replied Frank. But he found that 
 the supply of superlatives, in which he had been 
 indulging over the coffee, had sadly diminished now 
 that he was not alone with the pretty Liberian girl. 
 
 "You are going to remain here some time I 
 hope ? " continued the trader. 
 
 " I believe so. I grew tired of the monotony 
 of English town life, and I daresay that it may be 
 a couple of years before I want to return. Besides, 
 there is so much to interest one on the West 
 Coast of Africa." 
 
 There was a bustle in the upper part of the 
 house, and a stout, elderly woman came down the 
 stairs. "My wife," said Summerton comprehen- 
 sively. She had a motherly kind face, and was 
 evidently fond of bright colours. 
 
 "This is Mr. Benson from the English factory, 
 mother. He intends staying in Liberia a long time, 
 he tells me. I know you will like each other." 
 
 52
 
 A Conversation 
 
 She shook hands with him, and examined his 
 appearance very carefully. 
 
 " Yes ? You must give us a week-end some 
 time, Mr. Benson. The house will easily accom- 
 modate you, and we are quite English in our 
 tastes." 
 
 He talked with them for a time, then rose to 
 go. " Good-bye for the present," he said to the 
 hospitable trader and his wife. The girl accom- 
 panied him to the gate. As she unlafcched it for 
 him she said, " You won't remain long in Grand 
 Bassa, Mr. Benson." 
 
 Frank looked at her vexedly. His intention to 
 remain in Liberia for an indefinitely lengthy period 
 had never seemed so strong as it did at the present 
 moment. 
 
 " You don't wish me to stay ? " he asked. " I 
 mean to stop here for a long, long time yet, I do 
 assure you." 
 
 The girl flashed him a glance of amazement. 
 " I know what it is," she said. " There are some 
 men Germans especially who come here, and 
 who remain for two, three, and even four years. 
 But they are empty people who only live for pro- 
 fitable trading. You are different. A girl like 
 me finds that time can drag, and I am sure you 
 will yearn for the towns before long. If / feel 
 cramped, who have never left Bassa, or seen large 
 cities, what will it be to one who has lived in them 
 from infancy ? " 
 
 She paused with a blush at her own vehemence. 
 Then she said earnestly, " It will be intolerable to 
 you after another few months." 
 
 Benson laughed. "You are wise, my dear child." 
 
 53
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 He saw that the word displeased her, and began 
 to doubt whether he had not been wrong in his 
 estimate of her age. More seriously he said, " It 
 is just because I know what existence in town is 
 like that I shall be eminently satisfied with Grand 
 Bassa for a long time." 
 
 The girl's opinion was palpably the same. She 
 closed the gate behind him carefully, and shook 
 hands with him across it with a slight show of 
 coldness. "Good-bye," she said. When Benson 
 looked back after five minutes' journey down the 
 path he could still see her white frock glimmering 
 against the surrounding greenness. 
 
 It was quite dark when he reached the factory. 
 
 " Well," asked Mr. Wrigley, " what success ? " 
 
 He was seated at the table, briskly working at 
 the rough draft of his mails. Clayton had gone 
 on one of his nightly walks, and Frank felt glad 
 of the chance of a conversation with his agent. 
 
 " I like the family immensely, and Mr. Summer- 
 ton seems to be remarkably well disposed towards 
 the firm." 
 
 " He has been intimately connected with us for 
 many years. We finance his piassava farm and 
 share the net profits. You will need to see his 
 manner of working in order that you may under- 
 stand the production of fibre. Will you spend a 
 few weeks there, and he can then take you to the 
 farm?" 
 
 Mr. Wrigley showed a face all smiles. He knew 
 that Benson was the most reliable assistant he 
 could possibly have ; and already he had dis- 
 covered his worth in the systematic success that 
 had followed his agency since the young journalist's 
 
 54
 
 A Conversation 
 
 abilities had been brought to bear upon the 
 business. 
 
 Frank was pleased with the offer. " I will go 
 with pleasure," he said. 
 
 " Right. I will send two of the boys down with 
 your luggage this week-end." 
 
 The younger man lifted his eyebrows in surprise. 
 
 " It is all right, my dear fellow," Mr. Wrigley 
 continued, with a breezy laugh. " Summerton and 
 I have talked the matter over several times, and he 
 is quite eager to be your host. He may be a little 
 astonished at my sudden decision, but none the 
 less pleased to have you, I know." 
 
 They waited for Clayton until nearly eight 
 o'clock. Then, with a frown of annoyance, the 
 agent ordered the stewards to pass the dinner. 
 He was very reticent, and never abused a person 
 in his absence. But it was obvious that he was 
 becoming tired of the clerk's frequent disregard of 
 rule. 
 
 Since the morning Frank's opinion of the gentle 
 sex had greatly improved. The formality of the 
 meal disquieted him. He felt that the circle of 
 people in the house was incomplete. They lacked 
 the presence of a womanly woman. Mrs. Wrigley 
 had used to live at the Atlantic House, he had 
 heard, and was now in England only temporarily. 
 He mildly suggested his thoughts as he dallied 
 with dessert. 
 
 " Oh," cried Mr. Wrigley, throwing a smile full 
 of raillery across the table, " I believed you to 
 be a woman-hater." 
 
 " No, sir ; I am quite serious. What can equal 
 the tact, the delicacy, and the sensitiveness of a
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 lady ? We are becoming far too prosaic and 
 material in our outlook. Look at our dulness 
 over meals. Were Mrs. Wrigley among us our 
 talks would be more intelligent, more sparkling 
 than they are now." 
 
 " You are speaking truly, my boy. It is quite a 
 favourable theme with the newspapers at present 
 that the genius of conversation is on the decline. 
 A woman in our midst would help us considerably. 
 I shall think the matter over, and write to my wife." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Frank gratefully. " To 
 a certain extent there can be no doubt that the 
 magazines are right in their assertions. A clever 
 conversationalist chats for his hearers' sake not 
 for his own. And the end and aim of every talk 
 should be to leave your companions pleased with 
 themselves, and confident that they have satis- 
 factorily impressed you with the vastness of their 
 knowledge and experience." 
 
 The agent laughed. 
 
 " A convincing argument in favour of my wife's 
 presence," he said. " But, seriously, Frank, I shall 
 ask her to come to us. We shall be brighter and 
 happier, I am sure." 
 
 As Benson turned towards his room he glanced 
 at the table where Clayton usually worked after 
 business hours. There were several letters ready 
 for the coast steamer, and the top one was ad- 
 dressed, " Miss Fanny Leighton, Stockport Road, 
 Manchester, England." Frank felt rather virtuous 
 as he closed his door. " How mean the fellow is ! " 
 he thought. " Poor little Sarnie ! " 
 
 The stars were brightening as he sat at the 
 window and listened to the long, sonorous wash of 
 
 56
 
 A Conversation 
 
 the waves on the beach. He lingered over the 
 blossoms with which his boy was wont to decorate 
 his table, tenderly arranging the leaves. Then he 
 murmured " Lily," and started as he recalled the 
 prophetic lines of his poem 
 
 " I praise most the bud of my breast, 
 The flower that is emblem of rest, 
 
 Lowly sweet Lily." 
 
 He repeated the words over and over almost un- 
 thinkingly. Then the full meaning of the words 
 dawned upon his consciousness. He eagerly took 
 up paper and pencil, and set to work upon a new 
 inspiration. 
 
 He wrote slowly and carefully, pausing often to 
 listen to the drone of the insects and the lonely 
 cries from the bush. Clayton had returned, and 
 was now moving about in the bedroom next to his. 
 A kruboy, passing to his town, sent out a long, 
 weird cry of parting to his friends some distance 
 behind. 
 
 " Wallflower, lilac, violet, 
 Pansy, mimosa, mignonette, 
 Coronella, tulip, broom, 
 Thyme and roses sweetly bloom. 
 O'er the hot sand in the sun 
 Tiny lizards bask and run, 
 For this is sure the fairest time 
 In the fairest land and fairest clime. 
 
 " ' How were the flowers born ? ' you say. 
 In the brightest garden on brightest day. 
 When the world was young, one sunny morn 
 Fresh and sweet was the violet born ; 
 Then the flowers of the jessamine 
 Glistened like stars through the mist white shine. 
 The snowdrop came with the hope of spring, 
 Pure as the plume from an angel 's wing. 
 
 57
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 The crocus was born, ruddy gold and white, 
 Then came hepatica and aconite ; 
 When the early winds had milder grown 
 The sward with daisies was thickly strown. 
 Buttercups came, near the hedges grew 
 Yellow primroses of sunniest hue. 
 Closely folloived the anemones, 
 Then palm-flowers gleamed amid the trees. 
 Above the grass, so fresh and green, 
 Stately daffodils noiv were seen. 
 And on the purest day in all the year 
 A Lily was born 'twas yo u, my dear." 
 
 Benson smiled with gratification as he pushed 
 the sheets from him. He turned down the lamp 
 and went to his bed. But the verses haunted him. 
 He had merely been giving expression to the 
 thoughts sent him earlier in the day, when the 
 glimmer of a white dress had shown against the 
 gloom behind Summerton's garden-gate. 
 
 He quoted the last verse in a whisper, and again 
 smiled at the imagery of the lines. As he closed 
 his eyes his thoughts were all of the morrow, and 
 of what joy the next few weeks might produce for 
 him. He admitted himself, for the first time in 
 his sentimental life, to be in love, deeply, passion- 
 ately, ardently.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 IDEAS 
 
 " Nothing can be better adapted to turn man's thoughts off his 
 own self-sufficiency than the works of Nature " 
 
 TC^ARLY on the following Saturday morning 
 Benson had his belongings removed to 
 Buchanan ; and at twelve o'clock he was stand- 
 ing on the stairs ready for departure. Clayton 
 had made his jealousy ostensible for some 
 weeks, and he now stood with contracted brows 
 in the yard. His own steward approached him 
 with a glass of water and proffered it re- 
 spectfully. He was a Bassa native of about 
 fourteen, clean, neat, and pleasing. Clayton 
 turned on him with a suppressed curse, and the 
 lad's arm trembled. He stood in awe of his 
 master. The glass clattered to the ground. 
 
 Then Clayton's resentment found an outlet. 
 He abused the lad roundly, and finally cuffed him 
 across the head. " You little black beast," he 
 said. 
 
 Mr. Wrigley stood with Benson on the stairs. 
 He made no comment upon the scene below, but 
 his eyes were severe. 
 
 " Good-bye, Benson. I trust you will enjoy 
 your stay at the farm. You must write to me 
 
 59
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 occasionally. I shall manage to keep your work 
 up to date for you." 
 
 Clayton grunted out a surly " Good morning " 
 as the other young Englishman passed him. 
 Frank felt relieved when he was fairly on his 
 way. 
 
 Summerton met him at the little garden-gate, 
 and chatted with him for a few minutes before 
 they entered the house. When Lily came forward 
 to greet him, as they passed through the flower- 
 plots, he realised once more the charm of her 
 brown eyes and white teeth. 
 
 " You will take tea with us ? Or would you 
 prefer it in your own room ? " she asked demurely, 
 as she laid the snowy cloth. 
 
 " With you," answered Benson promptly. " I 
 want to be one of the family during the time of 
 my visit, if you will permit me." 
 
 Summerton was evidently gratified. " I like 
 that," he said heartily. " I don't care for a feeling 
 of reserve to be constantly in the air ; and you 
 will be far more comfortable yourself, Mr. 
 Benson." 
 
 From time to time Lily left the room with a 
 flutter of white and crimson. " You are not sorry 
 you came to Grand Bassa, are you ? " the old 
 trader asked during one of these absences. 
 
 " No, indeed. It is a respite after the clamours 
 of London and Manchester." 
 
 " So. I cannot believe that this modern hurry 
 is pleasing to God. When I lived in the West 
 Indies I was always impressed with the sleepiness 
 of the place, and used to contrast it with my 
 memories of the rush and tumult of the large 
 
 60
 
 Ideas 
 
 State cities. Here, too, I am quite content. I 
 wouldn't exchange Liberia for any one of the 
 European countries. True it is that we have our 
 worries. Sometimes the piassava crop is spoiled by 
 remaining in the water too long. Sometimes our 
 kernels are unsatisfactory, and there's no end to 
 the losses in the coffee. But 'tis good to live 
 with nature, all the same to live among the vegeta- 
 tion and to see the productions of one's own skill 
 and labour. Ay, even though the old curse of 
 Adam is on the soil still and there is nothing quite 
 perfect. Often I have seen the most healthy crop 
 of rice spoiled at the last moment. But, despite 
 discouragement, I shall remain a farmer to the 
 end." 
 
 " We all feel the happiness of production. It 
 is the one recompense of endeavour. We bookmen 
 see the result of our labours in a more tangible 
 and enduring form than you tillers of the soil ; 
 but yours is the happier task." 
 
 Summerton looked his concern. He held all 
 books in a degree of awe. " You really think 
 that, Mr. Benson ? " He laughed contentedly. 
 " Well, I believe you are right ; for I like to think 
 that an old negro of the name of Summerton, quietly 
 plodding away at his piassava farm, is influencing the 
 markets of the world. And when I hear of the 
 utility of the produce of Liberia, and the indis- 
 pensability to Britain of the West African coast, 
 I always remember that I am one of the pioneers 
 of the trade." 
 
 " I like the story of the creation above all 
 the rabbinical lore," said Frank musingly. " Per- 
 haps Adam knew the surest felicity when he lived 
 
 61
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 in the fields from day to day, and there were no 
 towns in the world." 
 
 Then he went on to give an elaborate translation, 
 in his own fanciful way, of the growth of nature 
 in all its multitudinous aspects, and Summerton 
 listened with all the negro's simplicity and love 
 of the beautiful. Frank pictured the dewy morn- 
 ings of the early creation, when the trees were 
 young and tender and the angry clangour of the 
 cities could not interrupt the singing of the birds; 
 when the grass was fresh and green and the hurried 
 feet of the surging millions had not marked it 
 with their sordidness. How noble and grand must 
 have been the fathers of the human race living 
 constantly in touch with the Nature-God, and ever 
 conscious of His loving presence ! Summerton 
 looked at his garden with renewed interest and 
 acclaimed Benson's description. While they still 
 talked Lily and Mrs. Summerton appeared, and 
 behind them came three negro boys with the tea 
 prettily spread on enamelled trays. 
 
 The four had tea together in the little parlour. 
 The windows were open to let in the breeze that 
 blew daintily from the sea, and there was the 
 pleasant fragrance of greenery in the air. 
 
 A long line of natives was trooping past the 
 windows, carrying each a bundle of fibre to the 
 business part of the town. Benson ate his scones, 
 and watched the panorama dreamily. 
 
 The "toting" or carrying qualities of the natives 
 render them indispensable to the proper conduct 
 of trade in Liberia. They perform the functions 
 of beasts of burden with the strength and easy 
 dexterity of a lifelong experience. A boy of ten 
 
 62
 
 Ideas 
 
 years will carry on his head a bundle of piassava 
 or a bag of palm kernels, weighing fifty pounds, 
 with as much ease as a white lad would his school 
 satchel. The districts north of Grand Bassa are 
 covered in parts with steep hillocks. Conveying 
 loads under which a mule would stagger, the 
 natives go on unmoved for many hours. The 
 diet of these carriers is similar in every respect 
 to that of the average native : stockfish and rice, 
 cassava and local fruits, rum and gin. 
 
 " The busy season will soon be upon us again, 
 Mr. Benson," said Summerton tentatively. Frank 
 only nodded. From the road came a weird chorus. 
 To stimulate themselves to fresh effort the negroes 
 frequently indulge in a mournful chant as they 
 monotonously tramp along the paths. Such a song 
 the more distant boys had now struck up. Faintly 
 carried on the wind, the tiny party of tea-drinkers 
 heard the low murmur of their chant. This 
 gathered volume as they advanced, until the full- 
 sounding " Oh ne wlu deba oo " was plainly 
 audible. As the natives marched they kept up 
 a rhythmic step, repeating a syllable or two jerkily, 
 and then giving utterance to that peculiarly guttural 
 sound which is the negro's special acquirement. 
 One of them appeared to act as solo ; the others 
 joined in the refrain of "deba oo" The sound 
 was appropriately pleasing, and in harmony with 
 the stillness of the sultry afternoon. 
 
 Mrs. Summerton talked quietly, and her con- 
 versation was supplemented by many anecdotes and 
 stories. The gossip was mostly of persons with 
 whose names six months' residence in the Republic 
 had made Benson familiar ; but it was generally 
 
 63
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 harmless and good-humoured. Frank commented 
 upon the song of the boys who had just passed, 
 and asked for an interpretation. He had learned 
 a great deal of the country language, but was 
 frequently at a loss for the exact meaning of 
 sentences heard by him. 
 
 " Oh, that chant is very simple, and is totally 
 dissimilar from the usual expressions of the natives," 
 said Summerton, with a sparkle of his keen eyes. 
 " It means, * Hear my song,' and the refrain is, 
 1 Listen, do.' There is a longer chant that I should 
 like you to remember, c Cam wle jagu o vlen be 
 won' The meaning is, * The production of fibre 
 has made young and old financially equal ' ; and 
 when you know Liberia a little better you will 
 agree with me in saying that it is remarkably true." 
 
 There were delicious scones and cakes on the 
 table, and Frank thoroughly enjoyed the meal. 
 Mrs. Summerton produced a pot of home-pre- 
 served pineapple, and his journalistic ability was 
 instinct at once. He asked many questions, and 
 she was delighted to answer them. Without know- 
 ing it, Benson had happened upon the entrance to 
 Mrs. Summerton's heart, and she looked at him 
 approvingly as he ate his plate of fruit. 
 
 Lily was very quiet. She had not talked much 
 since her greeting in the garden. When the table 
 had been cleared she disappeared, and Frank heard 
 her playing an organ in some distant chamber of 
 the house. Mrs. Summerton had sent his boxes 
 upstairs before his arrival, and now rose to show 
 him to his room. It looked out upon the sea, and 
 was somewhat barely furnished, but specklessly 
 clean. He arranged his few volumes on a side- 
 
 64
 
 Ideas 
 
 table, and was pleased to see a vase of roses in the 
 window. " Lily," said the matron explanatively, 
 " she says you are very fond of flowers." 
 
 For some time after her departure he was 
 occupied with his papers, and upon pulling out 
 his watch was surprised to see that it was nearly 
 seven o'clock. Soon the dusk began to creep along 
 the shore, and a boy brought him a glass of milk 
 and a few biscuits. A second negro followed with 
 a lamp. He heard the closing of the front door, 
 the clear vibration of female voices from the 
 further staircase, and then heavy footsteps on his 
 landing. There came a knock to his door, and 
 Summerton appeared on the threshold. 
 
 " I thought I would just look in to ask whether 
 you were comfortable. We are early people here, 
 but if you care to sit up you can please yourself. 
 You will find breakfast ready any time after six in 
 the morning." 
 
 Benson smiled. " I shall be between the sheets 
 in another fifteen minutes. After all, late hours 
 disturb the health on the coast, though I don't 
 remember retiring before nine o'clock before. 
 Thanks for your visit. I am very well satisfied. 
 Good night." 
 
 He turned down his lamp, and a few minutes 
 later was reviewing the events of the day as he lay 
 on his bed. After the petty worries of the factory, 
 he was glad of his respite, and determined to make 
 the most of it. Beyond a casual poem and his 
 leisurely work for the Liberian press, he had done 
 nothing in his art since his arrival in Bassa. 
 Perhaps the old delight in labour would come back 
 to him now that the burden of dollars and cents
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 had been lifted, albeit only temporarily, from his 
 mind. He thought of the great electric-lighted city 
 over in England, and mentally saw Eldon Green 
 swathed in the mists of a December night. He 
 heard the subdued murmur of the streets and the 
 clack of voices. Then he listened to the grateful 
 murmur of the sea beyond the garden, and with 
 its music in his ears fell asleep. 
 
 66
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 LEARNING NEW THINGS 
 
 " He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry 
 the grinding " 
 
 'T'HERE is a little stream flowing through the 
 upper part of Grand Bassa, which seems to 
 reflect the quietude of that restful and sleepy place, 
 so tepid is it in its flow, so overgrown with man- 
 groves are its banks. The paths do not deign to 
 recognise its authority, and it possesses no bridges. 
 The traveller merely removes his shoes and wades 
 across. Here on the banks of this river was Sum- 
 merton's farm. Long after Frank Benson had been 
 recalled to the factory his memories of Buchanan 
 and the piassava farm were not confined so much 
 to days as to a period of unalloyed happiness. The 
 morning after his arrival at Summerton's house 
 was exquisitely fresh, and the trader proposed that 
 they should all spend the day at the farm, and thus 
 early initiate Frank into the mysteries of fibre pro- 
 duction. The young Englishman had made his 
 visit at the most opportune time of the year, and 
 he learned all the wonderful secrets of the growing 
 acres. When first he saw the wide stretch of water, 
 with the piassava like huge sticks of rhubarb grow- 
 ing from it, while the runnels kept up an incessant 
 
 67
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 murmuring, he felt awed. He knew that he would 
 require no occupation other than an observation of 
 the cutting of the produce and its elaborate courses 
 of cleaning and drying for many weeks to come. 
 His daily excursions into the interior left him de- 
 liciously tired, and he returned home every evening 
 to the whitewashed house at Buchanan full of talk 
 and badinage. He had ample leisure for a pursuit 
 of his profession, but he preferred to store his ob- 
 servations in his mind rather than place them on 
 paper. The time would come when he would feel 
 the grip of literature. Then he would labour 
 assiduously. Meanwhile, even the few favourite 
 volumes which he had carried with him from the 
 Atlantic House remained untouched, and he had no 
 desire to look at them. Every morning he was 
 stirring about six o'clock, and he sought his bed 
 soon after dinner each night. 
 
 For several days he was merely a beholder of the 
 work, growing each day more familiar with the 
 splitting and cleaning processes. The friendship 
 between Summerton and himself steadily grew, and 
 gradually he began to take part in the actual super- 
 vision. Had his future success depended upon his 
 capacity for learning he could not have been a more 
 eager student. 
 
 " Will I make a West Coast agent, do you 
 think?" he asked the old negro one afternoon, after 
 he had been splashing with bare feet from one heap 
 of stalks to another. 
 
 " Rather," said Summerton forcibly. " I haven't 
 known many young white people in Liberia who 
 have cared to examine the practical side of these 
 matters. You will be invaluable in the Liverpool 
 
 68
 
 Learning New Things 
 
 markets a few months from now. Though you are 
 town bred, the agricultural tendencies are in you. 
 You haven't learned much yet, but you had the 
 desire for improvement from the first." 
 
 Frank was satisfied with this attestation, and re- 
 turned to Buchanan in high spirits. He was not 
 making very rapid progress in his friendship with 
 Lily. She was a busy little creature, and he was 
 always occupied with his correspondence at such 
 times as she had leisure. In the evenings she 
 would be engaged with her mother in preparing 
 the morrow's food, or at other times would be 
 deeply engrossed in a new parcel of magazines and 
 books from England. Her father's liberality in 
 this department was boundless. Early in the 
 mornings she would be occupied in the garden 
 among the flowers. 
 
 After breakfast one mid-week Benson resolved 
 to have a holiday. Summerton readily excused 
 him, and started off for the farm alone. Lily was 
 among the flowers with shears and pruning-knife. 
 He laid down his cup and joined her. 
 
 " Cannot 1 help you, Lily ? " he said. " You 
 know how attached I am to flowers. Let me gather 
 the blooms for the house, and then give me a 
 lesson in pruning." 
 
 "This isn't the piassava farm, Mr. Benson. 
 You look on very well there. I have watched you 
 often. Look on now. Enjoy your holiday without 
 labour." 
 
 " You do not explain yourself, Miss Summerton. 
 Don't you know that a busy man can never be 
 idle ? Or perhaps it would be truer to say that an 
 idle man occasionally delights in work. Which- 
 
 69
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 ever of these two statements may please you 
 best is immaterial to me. As you say, I have 
 watched with admirable success. Now I want to 
 operate." 
 
 "All right." She laughed at him shyly. "But 
 be careful that you give the flowers sufficient stem, 
 and only pluck buds that are maturely grown. If 
 you don't properly understand which to pick you 
 had better wait until I am ready to pluck them 
 myself." 
 
 " I will both work and watch," said Benson, and 
 he began to select roses and geranium blossoms. 
 He placed the blooms loosely in a basin of fresh 
 spring water, and carried them into the house. 
 Mrs. Summerton had donned her outdoor clothes, 
 and expressed her intention of going into the town 
 for provisions. Soon Lily went to her room to 
 change her dress, and reappeared in a dainty robe 
 of lilac. Benson had his desired tete-a-tete^ and 
 Mrs. Summerton was hardly welcome when she 
 returned two hours later. 
 
 The days that followed were full of pictures that 
 impressed themselves vividly on Frank's mind. 
 Summerton laughingly excused the young English- 
 man from the farm, and Lily, in her white frock 
 and crimson sash, was his companion in everything. 
 The months of the young year were different from 
 the weeks just before Christmas. The mornings 
 were grey and humid. Benson would open his 
 windows to the cool sea air, and sit at his table 
 watching the silver and sable of the ocean as it 
 stretched illimitably to right and to left. Lily 
 moved among her flowers like a little white ghost ; 
 and in the evenings she would take him to the 
 
 70
 
 Learning New Things 
 
 room, half study, half nursery, where the organ 
 stood, and sing quaint melodies in French and 
 English. 
 
 He found the pretty Liberian girl more than 
 interesting. From her manifest erudition he knew 
 that she was considerably older than he had at first 
 deemed her to be, but he still liked to think of her 
 as a child. Her artless candour was infinitely 
 amusing. From the first she gave him her confi- 
 dence, and conversed with him about Manchester 
 and London, Paris and Berlin, with an eagerness 
 for information which was intensely flattering. He 
 described his native country enthusiastically, and 
 then talked of the British Museum, Downing 
 Street, Fleet Street, the clubs. Her wonder grew 
 as she listened, and he saw that his journey to 
 Liberia was incomprehensible, beyond her under- 
 standing. Then he endeavoured to explain that 
 the clamour of traffic could become tiring, oppres- 
 sive, satiable. But she only shook her head at 
 these times, and played " Sally in our Alley." 
 
 For the purpose of communicating with the 
 outlying places on the coast, Summerton had 
 purchased some years before a small whale-boat, 
 and the two young people would often take a sail 
 down the harbour. Four kruboys were necessary 
 to man the oars, and sometimes Frank would help 
 to row. Then Lily would laugh at his love of 
 exercise. The difference in years between them 
 was so slight that they were like boy and girl 
 together. Sometimes, when the wind gripped 
 them, and the boat ran along impetuously, Lily 
 would hold her breath in delight and her eyes 
 would sparkle with pleasure. She was a born 

 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 sailor. In the calm that succeeded, when the boys 
 lay idly on their oars, and they had put into a little 
 creek for lunch, she would sing to him, and he 
 thought he had never heard a sweeter or a fresher 
 voice. 
 
 One afternoon there happened an incident that 
 never faded from Benson's memory. They had 
 decided to take a trip into the Hartford River, 
 and it was necessary to cross the bar. All the 
 morning the rain had been falling fitfully, but 
 the sun was fighting hard for the mastery, and 
 about noon came out brightly and strong. The bar 
 moaned like a thing in pain, and Mrs. Summerton 
 earnestly advised them to postpone their holiday. 
 But Lily laughed at her mother's fears, and they 
 set out after a late breakfast. 
 
 They sped merrily down the harbour, and made 
 for the bar. The wind was blowing in gusts, and 
 the boat rocked as the sail broadened to the breeze. 
 But the tide was rising, and as they neared the 
 sandbanks the spar was broken and the sail flapped 
 down helplessly against the mast. One of the boys 
 a kru native of about eighteen made a futile tug 
 at the ropes, and as the boat lurched into the swell he 
 pitched overboard. Lily put the tiller hard-a-port, 
 intending to reach the shore, and the boy swam by 
 the side of the boat for a few minutes. He had 
 gripped it with eager fingers, and his companions 
 tried to assist him over the side. Then there was 
 a sudden commotion on the surface of the water, 
 and a widening crimson patch showed that a shark 
 had taken off one of his legs. With admirable 
 presence of mind Frank gripped the poor fellow 
 under the armpits. As he lifted the native slowly 
 
 72
 
 Learning New Things 
 
 upward he was pushed roughly aside by the other 
 krumen. They were in a panic. " He no use 
 without him leg," they cried gaspingly. Before 
 either the man or the girl could interfere they had 
 beaten at the trembling unfortunate with their oars. 
 Although he clung obstinately to the boat, he was 
 driven by sheer influence of blows into the surf. The 
 blood-stained breakers closed over his head for ever. 
 Lily had sunk back exhausted in the stern, and 
 as the boat reached the beach she fainted. Benson 
 carried her gently into the house, and left her in 
 the care of her mother. After that their excursions 
 in the bay ceased. For two days he did not see the 
 girl, and he returned to the farm work feeling that 
 he alone was responsible for her distress. Presently 
 she was to be seen at her usual household and 
 garden avocations, and they again continued their 
 intimacy. It was now Lily's turn to open her 
 mind, and she spoke freely of her childhood, 
 spent amid the wonders of the fields. Benson 
 found her more charming every day, and yet his 
 critical faculties could not admit her to be called 
 beautiful. She had innumerable black admirers, 
 but she treated all with the same degree of friendly 
 politeness. She disdained, or pretended to disdain, 
 the elemental passions, and had a keen contempt for 
 mawkishness. Perhaps this air of cold superiority 
 was at the root of her peculiar enchantment. She 
 was a child in matters of the world, with all a 
 child's innocence. Yet her conversation was singu- 
 larly decided and well-informed. Thus, they were 
 speaking one night of Clayton, of whose move- 
 ments every Liberian was thoroughly cognisant, 
 and Lily said emphatically 
 
 73
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 "The majority of young men are foolish, and 
 too susceptible to natural desires. I haven't met 
 many yet whom I could properly respect. There 
 are scores of things that a woman could do better 
 than a man if she were permitted the chance." 
 
 Then her eyes drooped, and Summerton laughed 
 at her sagacity. 
 
 " You would always play first fiddle for one 
 thing, perhaps ? " he suggested. 
 
 Lily's eyes met Frank's in a gaze of raillery, and 
 her mouth contracted in a smile. " We do that 
 already, although the men don't know it. Lady 
 Halle is a magnificent violin-player, I believe. But 
 she will never learn how to play upon the second 
 fiddle." 
 
 " Who told you that, child ? " cried Mrs. Sum- 
 merton. " It is true. I remember when first Joe 
 proposed. He gave me to understand that he 
 must rule. But I had the selection of all the 
 furniture, none the less. And he has not interfered 
 with my plans once since then." 
 
 Summerton looked quizzically at the young 
 people, while his wife substantiated her contention 
 by fragments of local history. Lily rose and as- 
 cended the stairs. Soon strains of music floated 
 down to them. Frank excused himself and went 
 to join her. Who would listen to Mrs. Summer- 
 ton's stories while that sweet voice continued to 
 sing the ballads of England ? 
 
 74
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 ONE POINT OF VIEW 
 
 " I affirm that tranquillity is nothing else than a good 
 ordering of the mind." 
 
 " IVY COTTAGE, 
 
 " BUCHANAN, 
 
 " January , 1 9 
 " DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, 
 
 " So at last you have remembered the exist- 
 ence of lonely me, living in the land of strange 
 faces, other minds. How anxiously I have been 
 waiting for a letter from England ! It is over 
 six months since I arrived here, and only one 
 little epistle has reached me during that period. 
 But I mustn't complain. I can see from the date 
 of your present letter that you replied promptly 
 enough to the one sent by me last September. 
 
 " Marvel not at the address of this. I am spend- 
 ing a few weeks with Mr. Summerton, a Liberian 
 trader of great influence, and the change is most 
 enjoyable. During five or six days of each week 
 I am taking lessons in piassava-growing, and hope 
 some day to pose as an authority upon matters 
 Liberian. 
 
 " * Am I not longing to return ? ' Candidly I can 
 answer 'No.' As I write now the moon is shining 
 
 75
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 serenely over the bay, and I am looking out of my 
 window with infinite content. After the turbu- 
 lences and mind-agonies of the last few months 
 spent in England the restlessness and the heart- 
 burning it is just as though I had fallen into a 
 sweet tranquil sleep after a spell of nightmare. 
 I am glad to be here. So long as those whom I 
 love are happy and write to me cheerfully, I will 
 not return to England. But if I heard disquieting 
 news from home I should feel the month's voyage 
 between us to be almost interminable. 
 
 " Sometimes, indeed, when the long day's work 
 is done, I have sat on the verandah at the Atlantic 
 House, gazing seaward, and listening to the cries 
 of the birds in the trees. Then, and only then, 
 has England called me. The snow will be with 
 you now. You will be surrounded with all the 
 fresh stillnesses of winter. The air will be clear 
 and crisp, you will be wrapped up and covered as a 
 protection against the cold, and my little friends 
 will be boisterously snowballing one another. 
 Strange contradiction ! Here, we attire ourselves 
 in our flimsiest garments, and almost persuade our- 
 selves about the hour of noon that the skin is 
 quite superfluous. 
 
 " * But what is Bassa like ? ' I hear you exclaim- 
 ing. Come, then, let me take you for a long walk, 
 and you will know the place almost as well as 
 myself. This cannot be asserting very much, as 
 I do not tread to any great extent from the beaten 
 track as yet ! I hope to improve my knowledge 
 as time goes on. But, thanks to that faculty of 
 attention which you, dear father, early implanted 
 within me, I daresay 1 have learned infinitely more 
 
 76
 
 One Point of View 
 
 in the time spent here than certain others would 
 have done : these blind folk going about with their 
 eyes (metaphorically speaking) out on loan, and 
 their ears temporarily asleep. 
 
 " Practically speaking, Grand Bassa is the most 
 important place on the Liberian coast. The name 
 has a native meaning which is rather obscure, but 
 there can be no doubt that early in the sixteenth 
 century it was known to the Spanish and Portuguese 
 slave traders. 
 
 "The houses are for the most part built of tim- 
 ber and zinc, and are painted white. As they peep 
 out from among the dark foliage of the trees they 
 form a not unpicturesque scene. There are, of 
 course, no paved roads, as this is not an affluent 
 colony. The paths are of fine white sand, and 
 looked at from the distance appear to wind like 
 thin cords over the clear green of the grass and 
 wayside herbs. At intervals a giant palm or cotton 
 tree rises high into the sky, and on either hand 
 grow pineapples and other wild fruits. 
 
 " Which last remark reminds me as Mrs. Gamp 
 would say that the whole of Liberia is very fertile, 
 and that vegetables abound. 
 
 " The view we enjoy from here is very beautiful. 
 The sun sinks very rapidly below the horizon after 
 seven o'clock, and in an incredibly short time the 
 land is enveloped in darkness. But when the moon 
 has fully risen one can almost see as well as in 
 broad daylight. I have noticed at home in our 
 large cities that the advance of night is attended by 
 a great stillness. Here a thousand sleepers are 
 awakened by the approach of darkness. Bats fly 
 past your ears, huge moths and beetles whirr 
 
 77
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 through the air, tree-frogs and crickets emit that 
 strange weird sound which is so characteristic of 
 night in the tropics, and the air sparkles brilliantly 
 with the passage of fire-flies and their phosphor- 
 escent mates. 
 
 "The effect of the moon upon the sea is lovely 
 in the extreme. Some of my poet friends would 
 give half their songs for the inspiration to be de- 
 rived from the scene. The moon appears almost 
 twice the size to which we are accustomed in 
 England, and the long line of the coast seems to 
 palpitate with an almost unnatural light. The trees 
 stand out clearly against the sky, and upon some of 
 them the fruit is disclosed. To the left of the har- 
 bour is a long reef of black rocks, upon which the 
 sea breaks in magnificent splashes of foam. Here 
 the Calabar, one of Elder's steamers, foundered 
 some three years ago, and to-day her masts appear 
 many feet above the waters as an ever-present 
 testimony to the dangers of these shores. 
 
 " Am I boring you ? The Liberians, like all 
 emancipated negroes, are rather inflated, but they 
 have many admirable traits in their characters. 
 One of their affectations is peculiarly amusing. 
 This is the love of high-sounding words and 
 phrases. The following little story will illustrate 
 my statement. Mr. Johnson, a renowned Liberian 
 lawyer, is retained by the firm for advice. The 
 statute of the Republic is intricate, and he is in 
 constant demand. One day recently he had an 
 appointment with Mr. Wrigley, and arrived rather 
 late. After greeting us, this was his excuse : 
 ' Gentlemen, I am extremely sorry that I have been 
 delayed, and must apologise most profusely for 
 
 78
 
 One Point of View 
 
 keeping you waiting. But the humidity of the 
 atmosphere oppressed me in a degree, and this, 
 combined with the tardiness of the boys engaged 
 to convey me to my destination, rendered my 
 itineration extremely difficult and, in fact, quite 
 injucundant.' 
 
 " Our agent urged me to meet one of these 
 gentlemen on his own ground. Such a warfare of 
 words without meaning took place that the listeners 
 Wrigley, Clayton, and others had to retire in 
 dismay. Mr. Henry James would have been in the 
 seventh heaven had he been present, I am sure ! 
 
 " I can understand father's desire to have a brief 
 outline of the business here. But I have en- 
 deavoured to taboo the subject, as I do not wish 
 to render my letters over-dry. Very little direct 
 selling occurs in Grand Bassa, the star of barter 
 being in the ascendant. The native and Liberian 
 traders require all manner of things liquor, uten- 
 sils, tobacco, and cotton goods. They dispose of 
 their produce, which is principally palm oil, piassava, 
 kernels, and coffee, for the goods required. No 
 cash is exchanged, as a relative value is placed upon 
 everything in dollars and cents the currency of 
 the Republic. The business is intricate in propor- 
 tion with the various values placed upon the mer- 
 chandise and produce. About a dozen boats, each 
 carrying a crew of eight kruboys all the blacks 
 are *boys,' whether they be five or fifty are en- 
 gaged in carrying the produce from the rivers and 
 coast towns, and a great number of Bassa and Vey 
 natives are employed in the yard, bundling up the 
 fibre and cooking the palm oil preparatory to ship- 
 ment. We white people have no manual tasks, but 
 
 79
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 the energy necessary to a proper management of 
 the place is fatiguing in the extreme. The Liberian 
 clerks in the store and warehouse are fairly well 
 educated, and relieve us from a great deal of clerical 
 work. 
 
 There is a big dance on in Krutown at present. 
 They call it the Jengua, I believe, and the play is 
 to last for nearly a fortnight. The other night, 
 as I lay in my bed listening dreamily to the long 
 swish of the waves on the beach, I heard the 
 opening of the holiday. Every night since then 
 I have been kept awake until the small hours of 
 the morning listening to the scratching of the kitty- 
 katty, the monotonous wail of the tom-tom, and 
 the twanging of the harp. But these alone would 
 be as silence compared to speech ; for it is the un- 
 earthly screams, the piercing shrieks, and the em- 
 phatic * f ,' with the frantic chorus of { ,' 
 
 which renders the night so hideous. 
 
 "Just after dinner to-night, Tuesday, I went 
 rather tentatively to the town. The natives all 
 know me very well ; but it was obvious that this 
 occasion had nothing in common with the harmless 
 little plays at which I had been wont to applaud. 
 Without losing their air of deference and respect, 
 they plainly indicated that my presence was not 
 required, so I stayed only a few minutes. Many 
 of the men and women were drunk, and my face 
 burned as I saw my favourite houseboys among 
 the seething mass of howling players. At the 
 breast of several of the elder women, seated before 
 
 * We are unable to quote the native words, as they are of the 
 immodest import general to these carnival chants of the un- 
 educated negro. 
 
 80
 
 One Point of View 
 
 their hut doors, apparently watching the dance, 
 were puking infants ; and I inwardly shuddered at 
 the thought of the vile liquor being transmitted to 
 the mouths of the little ones. 
 
 "The liquor traffic among the natives I believe 
 to be a great evil. Unchecked by legislation, this 
 traffic, whether in the hands of white merchants 
 or Liberian traders in the interior of the county, 
 assumes large proportions. To the credit of the 
 British colonies be it said that there is maintained 
 a strict prohibition on the sale of rum and gin, 
 and that a careful supervision is kept over the 
 quantity disposed of. 
 
 " Alcohol has been responsible for innumerable 
 injuries to the physical welfare of nations, and the 
 disappearance of aborigines before civilisation in 
 other parts of the world is largely due to excessive 
 drinking. It is a deplorable fact that the mortality 
 among the native tribes of Liberia is very great, 
 and that thirty-eight years is about the average age 
 of a worker. Here, of course, there can be no 
 fear of the native tribes vanishing, because of the 
 strong minority of the landowners ; but the brain 
 is animalised, pregnated with superstition, cramped 
 and confined by excessive use of alcohol. What 
 is the use, to a nation that yearns ardently for the 
 recognition and approval of its fellows, of a race 
 of physically well-developed men when they are 
 kept in a state of serfdom, vice, and ignorance 
 by the abuses of liquor ? Liberia can never 
 hope to produce noble intellects from her native 
 tribes until some authoritative kind of super- 
 intendence is exercised over them in their homes. 
 All her efforts after emancipation and education 
 F 81
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 are sapped of their vitality by the bane of 
 drunkenness. 
 
 "It must be remembered that liquor appeals 
 irresistibly to the native mind, uncultured, un- 
 developed. It is a luxury which, when opportunity 
 offers, it would be worse than folly to refuse. The 
 native is not conscious of any moral obligations to 
 society. Alcohol is meant to be drunk, and he 
 drinks it with the same natural robustness of 
 appetite as that with which he gorges himself on 
 an excessive supply of rice. Moreover, it must 
 not be forgotten that the half-drunken man or 
 woman or child is a criminal. When sober the 
 most uncultivated being is safe and sane ; he is, 
 without any strong incentive, law - abiding and 
 peaceable. When drunk he is unsafe and insane, 
 and without strong restraint is, moreover, the root 
 of a thief and a murderer. 
 
 "We white people have burdened ourselves with 
 a heavy curse. I am no ranting temperance 
 advocate, but the system inaugurated by coast 
 traders of permitting the natives to purchase gin 
 and rum ad libitum^ without any moral or social 
 governance of their conduct at home^ is a terrible re- 
 sponsibility. As an employee of an English firm, 
 daily selling liquor in large quantities, this may 
 appear illogical reasoning ; but the traffic is not 
 mine. I have the financial interests of my firm at 
 heart I know ; but wherefore, when the Liberian 
 Senate increased the duty upon liquor to the extent 
 of about 200 per cent, above the actual cost, and 
 our agent denounced them as * impeders of trade 
 and blind to the interests of their own Republic,' 
 could not my lips form an endorsement of his 
 
 82
 
 One Point of View 
 
 opinions ? Perhaps there is light on the horizon 
 of this long-standing corruption of the country's 
 manhood at last. If the brutalising excesses of 
 liquor can be prevented by this mode of procedure, 
 one Englishman will be intensely pleased. I saw 
 a horrible sight the week before I journeyed to 
 Ivy Cottage, and my body quivered as though I 
 were suffering the pain myself. The boys are, on 
 the whole, honest ; but here and there you will 
 find a black sheep. One of the Veys had stolen 
 a case of gin worth a couple of pounds sterling, 
 and hidden it behind one of the outstanding build- 
 ings. Mr. Wrigley is judicious. He understands 
 the native well, and has had long experience of 
 Liberian administration. He asked that the culprit 
 should allow twice the value of his theft to be 
 deducted from his quarter's wages. The other 
 natives refused, and sentenced their fellow to be 
 whipped. Dendoo, the head man of the yard, 
 executed the punishment, and when he had finished 
 the poor fellow's back was covered with blood. 
 He did not utter a sound of protest, but turned 
 piteous eyes on mine. We were on the piazza 
 reluctantly watching. 
 
 " It is only just that a thief should be punished, 
 and I acknowledge the fairness of this code of 
 ethics. But I fear that there are two sides to my 
 little soul, and that the darker side sometimes 
 o'ershadows the other. The good part pleads, but 
 is equitable. The wicked part dare not, by reason 
 of its own infirmities, condemn : and therefore 
 cries aloud for a general pardon for evildoers. 
 Picked members of a selected society, bred in the 
 atmosphere of uprightness, fed with good sound 
 
 83
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 moral law, and fully catechised from the cradle 
 onward in the paths of virtue, have no right to 
 judge hastily. Their very honesty vitiates the 
 verdict. God who made the lamb made also the 
 wolf, and the Divine Mind which conceived good- 
 ness had permitted sin and hate to flourish. May 
 He make me always merciful, for He alone knows 
 that I can never condemn. 
 
 " Mr. Summerton has a very pretty daughter 
 Lily. We are great friends, and I am enjoying my 
 holiday immensely. . . . 
 
 "To those correspondents whom 1 <4^' >or to be 
 neglecting please tender my apologies. Tell ^em 
 it is no easy matter to write to a wide circle of 
 acquaintances, when a month's voyage divides 
 Liberia from England. Assure them, however, 
 that it is not lack of esteem that keeps me silent. 
 Some day I shall feel unusually energetic, and will 
 then write to them all * one time.' 
 
 " Meantime accept my tenderest thoughts, and 
 
 believe me to be v , 
 
 1 Yours always, 
 
 "FRANK." 
 
 84
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 AN INTERLOPER 
 
 " Who is he ? " 
 
 "DENSON had been at Buchanan, Ivy Cottage, for 
 nearly two months ; and during the whole 
 of that time he had heard nothing definite from 
 the factory regarding his return. Occasionally 
 Mr. Wrigley wrote to him, expressing a few 
 commonplaces. But beyond these sporadic notes 
 there were no instructions. Frank was well con- 
 tent. 
 
 March was half over, and he was helping Lily 
 with her flowers one morning. The captain from 
 a passing steamer was ashore, and now he came 
 down the road in the company of another man. 
 They were passing the house, and Benson raised 
 his head from the carnations which he was tending. 
 The captain saluted him and smiled. But the 
 passenger, a tall, stalwart fellow, with ruddy face 
 and heavy moustache, paused. He came forward 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Frank Benson ? " he said interrogatively. 
 " Surely I am not mistaken." 
 
 " The same, Mr. Pyne. How are you ? I 
 thought that you were down on the Congo ac- 
 cumulating copy for your new series in Appleby's." 
 
 85
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 "And I never expected to meet you in Liberia. 
 Everyone is asking at home what part of the coast 
 has claimed you. I suppose you are up to the 
 eyes in work ? Are you studying native fetish ? It 
 is the last subject that I should have deemed of in- 
 terest to you." 
 
 Benson shook his hand. " I pray you do not 
 tell any of the men at the clubs my address. With 
 the exception of my work for the local press, and 
 such desultory studies as may engage my leisure, 
 I am free from literary calls. Do me this favour, 
 Pyne. A busy man like you, with a pen remark- 
 able for its facility, can hardly understand. But 
 I want to enjoy my freedom a little longer." 
 
 Pyne's eyes smiled faintly, and he tugged at 
 his moustache. He gave the required promise 
 with an appearance of reluctance and passed on 
 his way. 
 
 "Thank the powers," exclaimed Frank, looking 
 across at Lily, who had continued to prune her 
 rose bushes. 
 
 " Who is he ? " she asked eagerly, gazing after 
 the sturdy figure. 
 
 " If you are a reader of Appleby's but I know 
 you are you must have seen his Colonel Kelly 
 stories. He is E. A. Sutcliffe Pyne, the West 
 African novelist." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Lily, with quick animation. " I 
 know his name well. Why didn't you tell me 
 before?" 
 
 " My dear child, how could I ? You will 
 probably see him half a dozen times during the 
 present year. He always makes three or four 
 trips when he is acquiring information. No 
 
 86
 
 An Interloper 
 
 doubt he is here now on account of the mining 
 concession. He is ever keen upon stories of 
 adventure." 
 
 " Is he quite within the ranks ? " 
 
 She had picked up many of Benson's literary 
 phrases, and asked her questions with a naive 
 intimacy. This familiar tone she adopted only when 
 speaking to those whom she intimately cared for. 
 Frank felt flattered. 
 
 " He is very popular with the great magazine- 
 reading public, and he wields a very facile pen." 
 
 " What powers of observation has he ? " 
 
 " Great. For a writer is of no lasting good 
 without this faculty. It alone is the spring of 
 human activity, and from it arises our noblest 
 literature. But I can hardly class Pyne among our 
 best novelists. He is content with a popular 
 success, and does not aim at perfection in style. 
 None the less, he is a man who walks through life 
 with every nerve on the alert, with eyes open to 
 mark the characteristics of his fellows, and ears 
 open to catch the throbbings of the great pulse of 
 life." 
 
 Lily sighed. " Oh, Frank," she said, " when 
 shall I see England ? " 
 
 It was the first time that she had called him by 
 his Christian name, and he turned from the gate 
 over which he had been leaning with a little laugh. 
 " I am well contented with Liberia myself, Lily. 
 Here life is all leisurely work, and one does not 
 feel inclined to return to brain-fagging labour when 
 actual rest is at hand." 
 
 From that time onward Lily talked more openly 
 of books and bookmen. She revealed herself as 
 
 87
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 an omnivorous reader, and spoke freely of modern 
 fiction. Benson listened in amaze while she dis- 
 cussed Stevenson and Hardy, Meredith and Henry 
 James. He began to understand by degrees that 
 the blood of her white ancestors was stirring in 
 her veins. 
 
 Mrs. Summerton returned from the town that 
 night in a hammock. She had been making her 
 usual purchases at the stores, and as she came up 
 the steps of the piazza her face looked wan and 
 drawn. As soon as dinner had been disposed of 
 she went to bed. "I am tired," she said. Summer- 
 ton took up a cigar and followed her in some 
 perturbation. He evidently intended to have a 
 talk with her before she slept. Mrs. Summerton 
 generally enjoyed the best of apparent health. 
 
 Frank and Lily were left alone. She played with 
 the leaves of a book. 
 
 " Aren't you longing to return to England ? " 
 she said after a long silence. " I am sure you 
 must be tired of this sleepy place. You do at 
 least get noise over there." 
 
 " Tired ! " exclaimed Frank. " Why, I am far 
 better placed here than I could possibly be in 
 Manchester or London. There I am tied to a 
 sordid round of duties all the week. I can never 
 really call a moment my own. Here I am free. 
 In Liberia I live ; in England I simply have an 
 existence." 
 
 " But you have said that work is the only thing 
 worth living for." 
 
 " True. I have never yet known a man die of 
 overwork. When this is ascribed as the cause 
 of decease you may rest assured that the real 
 
 88
 
 An Interloper 
 
 motive was lack of appreciation. Now, in England 
 my employment had deteriorated into mere 
 labour. I wrote and wrote, not because I loved 
 to hold my pen and this should be the only 
 motive for writing but because a certain editor or 
 a certain publisher had asked for a particular con- 
 tribution." 
 
 " Yet you are a writer for art's sake," said Lily 
 convincingly. 
 
 " How do you know that ? For this very 
 reason, Lily, I hated my work. A heap of books, 
 that my sense of balance would not permit me 
 to read, was sent to me for review at periodic 
 intervals as regularly as my cheques. An exist- 
 ence upon the productions of mediocre authors 
 was intolerable. No. Now I am living honour- 
 ably ; honestly living. I have leisure enough to 
 make my articles for the Monrovia magazines 
 gratifying to my critical talents, and I am learn- 
 ing something new about the earth upon which 
 God has placed me to live my two score or three 
 score and ten of years." 
 
 Two days later Benson received a letter from his 
 agent. It ran 
 
 " MY DEAR BENSON, 
 
 " I am afraid that I must recall you to the 
 Atlantic House instantly. The Nyana leaves to-day 
 homeward-bound, and Clayton is to travel by her. 
 After some consideration of his case, I have decided 
 to send him to England. Of course, I will not 
 profess to say that I have known nothing of his 
 intrigues with native girls during the eight 
 months that he has been in Grand Bassa. But 
 
 89
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 I was content to wink at them so long as they 
 did not interfere with business. A new develop- 
 ment, anent the Vey girl named Samie, has come 
 to my ears, and I fear a scandal if he remains here 
 any longer. Further than this, I acted upon your 
 suggestion regarding the presence of Mrs. Wrigley, 
 and my wife and daughter are due to arrive at this 
 place six weeks from now. We must preserve the 
 prestige of the firm, and it would be supremely 
 embarrassing for Clayton to be still on the spot 
 when the ladies arrive. 
 
 " Mrs. Wrigley visited me for three months of 
 last year, and has spent many years of her life on 
 the coast. This climate seems to be agreeable to 
 her in a high degree. It has only been the care of 
 Maggie that has kept her away from me so long. 
 My daughter's education is now completed, and 
 she seems eager to make her home with her mother 
 and myself in Grand Bassa. She is seventeen years 
 of age, and I am sure that I can rely upon your 
 conduct while you are here with us. I speak 
 openly ; but the morals of the coast in their 
 excessive looseness render such freedom impera- 
 tive. I know that I am justified in my confidence, 
 as your careful attention to your duties amply 
 evidences the fact. 
 
 " Reverting again to Clayton. I am not wishful 
 to injure his future, so have spoken only very 
 tentatively to the firm regarding his indiscretions. 
 It is probable that they will send him to Sinoe, and 
 in this event I shall privately instruct Bell, the 
 agent there, to give him special attention. 
 
 " Will you send down your boxes to-day ? I 
 hardly know whether you care to say ' good-bye ' 
 
 90
 
 An Interloper 
 
 to your late fellow-traveller. Probably not. I 
 presume that an interview with him would only 
 disconcert you. I leave the matter in your own 
 hands. But I look for your return either to-day 
 or to-morrow. 
 
 " Convey my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Summer- 
 ton and their daughter. With sincere wishes for 
 your own welfare, believe me to be, 
 " Yours, etc., 
 
 "RALPH WRIGLEY." 
 
 Frank smiled rather cynically as he refolded the 
 large business sheet. 
 
 " I am recalled to the factory," he said to the 
 family over dinner. " Clayton is leaving by this 
 steamer, and Mr. Wrigley requires my assistance 
 at once." 
 
 Lily looked at him blankly. Perhaps, thought 
 Benson, she had grown so accustomed to his 
 presence that she had deemed the date of his 
 return too ambiguous for serious consideration. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Summerton received the news 
 more prosaically, and urged him cordially to give 
 them the pleasure of his company over the week- 
 ends. 
 
 " Let us have our last night together on the 
 water," said Lily. They joined a little party 
 of Accra fishers, and despite their amaze at the 
 boldness of the freak, seized upon a little dug-out 
 canoe. The moon was at the full .and the pale 
 stars twinkled in the deep vault of the sky. 
 Frank found a boundless delight in the placid 
 beauty of the dark sea, and Lily used her charm 
 so effectively that the surly Accra-men welcomed 
 
 91
 
 them among their own boats as they left the beach. 
 A river of flashing white broke the surrounding 
 blueness of the bay, where the moon threw down 
 her beams. The splendid shimmer of the fish as 
 they were drawn from the water and lay at the 
 bottom of the canoes fascinated the young people. 
 They held each other's hands, and the spirit of the 
 night bound them in a great silence. 
 
 Early the next morning he was standing in the 
 hall. His boxes he had despatched on the previous 
 afternoon. Summerton joined him at the door. 
 
 " I am sorry that you are leaving us at present, 
 Frank." There was a genuine ring of regret in his 
 voice. "The state of Mrs. Summerton's health 
 alarms me, and I could have wished that you were 
 still a member of the household. She seems to 
 have become unaccountably weak and short of 
 breath since Christmas." 
 
 " No doubt your wife has been working too 
 hard," said Benson, though he knew that Mrs. 
 Summerton's paleness and weariness came from 
 another source. 
 
 " She was never tired in the old days, and I am 
 afraid she may have the malady from which her 
 father died. He was only thirty-five, and he went 
 off quite suddenly with heart disease." 
 
 <c I will come down and see you often. Mean- 
 time, don't worry yourself needlessly. Let Mrs. 
 Summerton rest for a few days, and she will soon 
 be hearty and well again." 
 
 The old negro had grown into the habit of bow- 
 ing to the Englishman's judgment. He always 
 consulted him upon points of more than ordinary 
 intricacy. Like many another fine Liberian, with 
 
 92
 
 An Interloper 
 
 a fluent tongue and a broad outlook upon life, he 
 could neither read nor write. His reverence for 
 Benson, whose local articles Lily read to him in 
 secret, was therefore great in direct proportion to 
 his own ignorance of the art of letters. He 
 followed Frank down the path with a more satis- 
 fied air. 
 
 " One other matter unsettles me, Benson, my 
 boy. If my wife died I should feel the responsi- 
 bility of Lily's future very heavily. The girl ought 
 certainly to settle down to matrimony. There are 
 many bright young fellows she might have, and I 
 have imagined lately that she is attached to her 
 cousin Jack. Do you know him ? A smart youth, 
 my brother John's son at Hartford. But you can 
 never tell with Lily. She is so irresolute and im- 
 petuous." 
 
 Frank smiled at the contradiction of terms that 
 yet so aptly described Lily's happy caprices, and 
 said with interest, " Go on, please." 
 
 " She will marry Jack, I have no doubt. He is 
 doing very well in his father's business, and will 
 some day be a substantial landowner." 
 
 " At least he has your approval," said Benson, 
 with a slight display of bitterness. 
 
 " He has indeed ! I want to see Lily married to 
 a man whom I can trust." 
 
 Frank felt unmistakably hostile towards this un- 
 known cousin Jack. When Lily appeared from 
 the upper rooms, and commenced her operations 
 on the plants, he watched her for a few minutes in 
 silence. Then he said ardently, " Lily, I am going. 
 Won't you say * good-bye ' to me ? " 
 
 " Oh, good morning, Mr. Benson. You aren't 
 
 93
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 going to England, are you ? " She showed him 
 her white teeth framed in their scarlet lips. " You 
 will come and see us again soon." 
 
 A lark had just commenced its throbbing song 
 of adoration in the exquisite morning air as he 
 turned his face towards the fields. 
 
 94
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SAMIE 
 
 " Before you give way to anger, try to find a reason for not 
 being angry " 
 
 was a little diverted during the next few 
 days to find that he entertained a decided 
 emotion of enmity towards his unknown rival. 
 He made inquiries of Mr. Wrigley about the 
 young man's position, and learned that he had been 
 educated in Sierra Leone, and was thoroughly 
 Anglicised in speech and manners. His skin, how- 
 ever, distinctly showed his negro blood. The agent 
 spoke warmly of his genial manner and open- 
 handed liberality. Benson's heart felt a sudden 
 pang. He resented the cordial tone, and for some 
 days preserved a gloomy silence. To the man 
 placed in authority above him he could not give 
 the degree of friendly respect with which he had 
 been wont to serve him. 
 
 A month after his return to his ordinary duties 
 as correspondent at the Atlantic House he learned 
 from one of the house-boys that Samie of Veytown, 
 Clayton's purchased wife, had given birth to a son. 
 He received the intelligence with some surprise 
 and afterwards a feeling of repulsion. In that 
 Clayton had eluded the situation by his departure 
 he felt vaguely relieved. But he condemned his 
 conduct none the less heartily when he communed 
 
 95
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 with himself. Later he learned that the native 
 girl had named the child after her white lover. 
 Every baby on the coast begins its life with a tem- 
 porary name, and makes its own selection when it 
 has arrived at the years of discretion. Sarnie had 
 called her boy Artie, this having been the affection- 
 ate mode of address permitted by her lover. To 
 Sarnie Clayton had said that he would return 
 quickly, and the girl implicitly believed him. 
 
 It was the first week in April, and the English 
 spring would be making its presence felt in the 
 dear islands so far away. Frank was swinging in 
 his hammock, reading one of the new books just 
 received from home. It was evening, and the yard- 
 boys were noisily dispersing to their native towns. 
 Soon the volume slipped from his fingers, and he 
 fell into a doze. He was aroused by a touch on 
 the hand. Sarnie stood before him, her fair-skinned 
 baby strapped across her back. 
 
 " Ee benoo," she said, smiling with a flash of 
 teeth remarkable for their whiteness and regularity. 
 
 " Good evening," he replied wonderingly. 
 
 Then there was silence. The girl was evidently 
 waiting for something further from him. At last 
 she said hesitatingly, " You no savee who I be ? " 
 
 " I know who you are," he replied. The ques- 
 tion strangely angered him. Did not everyone in 
 Grand Bassa know her ; and had not every tattler 
 made Clayton's love affairs her own special business ? 
 
 " You are Sarnie, the Vey girl, aren't you ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Her head went up haughtily. " No," she said ; 
 " I am de wife of Mister Arthur Clayton." 
 
 Benson could not resist the impulse to laugh. 
 
 96
 
 Sarnie 
 
 But his mirth was quickly arrested by a glance 
 at the baby. Surely in the sight of God that 
 constituted marriage ? For what more lasting 
 bond could there be than a child ? He was in- 
 tensely fond of children. The little one looked up 
 at him unmeaningly as he took it in his arms. He 
 examined its features closely. There could be no 
 mistaking the little eyes and chin, flexible and un- 
 formed. They belonged unmistakably to Clayton. 
 
 " You think so that he be like them other Bassa 
 baby ? Ah no ! He is a diamond. Look at him 
 eyes. Did you ever see a black baby with blue eyes 
 before ? " 
 
 She took the child from him, and dangled it over 
 the piazza. A brightness shone in her eyes, and 
 she was laughing with the happy abandon of 
 motherhood. Suddenly she sobered, and turned to 
 him imperiously. 
 
 " Do you savee them spring for England side ? " 
 
 " Yes. I am a great lover of nature." 
 
 " Ah, you be wise man for true. Tha's why you 
 come for this black-man country." 
 
 " You do me honour," said Frank gravely. 
 
 " Then tell me when the spring-time come again. 
 Can it come just now right now ? " 
 
 "Spring is in England now," he answered. It was 
 not difficult to guess the trend of these questions. 
 Clayton had promised an early return ere the 
 spring had passed. For a few minutes she was 
 silent with a light in her eyes like that of a musing 
 goddess. Her chiefest beauty lay there. They 
 were large, black, sparkling. And her body had all 
 the grace of budding sufficiency. 
 
 " Massa Benson, tell me true. Suppose some 
 
 G 97
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 man get married for your country, do he stay 
 married all time ? He no fit get undone ? " 
 
 "No," replied Frank, with some hesitancy. "That 
 is to say, he cannot cancel a marriage without a 
 great deal of trouble." 
 
 "And it is no matter where them mammie live ?" 
 
 Benson was becoming alarmed ; but he answered 
 truthfully, " No." 
 
 A happy sigh came from between the girl's parted 
 lips. " That is too beau'ful altogether. Man no fit 
 undo them marriage 'cept it be in big house, all 
 same Buchanan, before plenty men ? " 
 
 " That is true in England." 
 
 " Suppose a baby come. That be fine ? Them 
 white man he like to have baby ? " 
 
 Frank did not answer immediately. He thought 
 of Lily Summerton, and pictured himself as her 
 husband. His lip was twitching as he answered 
 
 " Yes. Every man is proud of his children, 
 I should think." 
 
 "And them baby he look like him daddy all 
 time?" 
 
 This futile catechism was becoming strained. 
 Frank spoke almost irritably. 
 
 "Generally the child possesses some characteristics 
 of its father. That is to say, of course, when it is 
 not too strikingly like the mother." 
 
 Sarnie's face glowed rapturously. Again she 
 handed him the child, and stood proudly by while 
 he made play with it, and pronounced him to be a 
 fine little fellow. 
 
 If passion is to be enthroned where the Eternal 
 has ruled that love, as sanctified by marriage, should 
 be supreme, then misery with all its attendant 
 
 98
 
 Sarnie 
 
 remorses must desolate the heart and mind of the 
 seducer. Lust can only steal the pleasures which 
 are reserved for the pure. Surely, to comprehend 
 love in the relation intended by the sexual impulses 
 of attraction and repulsion, to know passion in its 
 beauty, its completeness and its power, to free it 
 from grossness and evil, marriage is essential ? God 
 has assigned to physical attraction so prominent and 
 important a place in man's life that passion should 
 not be lightly purchased or indulged. Man-made 
 morals are lax. True, the civil law always arraigns 
 the man as the criminal in all actions of seduction. 
 But while the law is supposed to punish the man, 
 public sentiment ostracises the woman. Sarnie's 
 degradation would be hard to bear. Frank sighed. 
 
 But suddenly the native girl remembered that in 
 her anxiety to satisfy her doubts and fears, she had 
 overlooked all those social courtesies taught by her 
 people. The West Coast negro is very polite. 
 
 " Tell me how you be ? How is them health, 
 and be it long time since las' you sick ? I sorry too 
 much that I wake you when I come." 
 
 He answered humorously that he felt quite 
 well. Witnessing these little revelations of charac- 
 ter, he felt ashamed of his recent vexation ; and 
 only pity for the girl moved him as he assured her 
 that he could well spare the time spent in her 
 company. 
 
 " T'ank you. That be fine for true." 
 
 She held out her little hand, and turned to go. 
 At the door of the dining-room she looked round 
 and came back. 
 
 " I want to come see you for long, long time. 
 But I fear them old white man ; what you call him ? 
 
 99
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 them Ligley. I see him go past we town, and 
 then I come." 
 
 Mr. Wrigley had been asked to dine at the 
 house of the local superintendent. Frank mar- 
 velled at the intimacy displayed. Was it possible 
 that the actions of the white people were closely 
 examined and criticised ? He looked at the girl 
 with increased admiration. Her consideration for 
 his judgment was at least complimentary. 
 
 " Mister Clayton he be fine man." 
 
 He replied warmly. With all his faults Clayton 
 had been a good companion, and in the days before 
 he had known the Summertons Frank had often 
 realised the value of his conversation. 
 
 " Yes," she said musingly. " Them first time 
 I see him I just come from the gri-gri bush and I 
 fear him plenty. But he get such nice hair, not 
 long all same you, but fine and soft ; and he sit by 
 my side and hold my hand. He be so funny at 
 first. He just look, look, look." 
 
 She laughed happily. 
 
 " Until I see him I no seem to live. He make 
 me happy, happy, happy." 
 
 This reiteration a quality peculiar to the natives 
 came with delightful verve from her lips. 
 
 " Yes, I fear him them first time I look him ; 
 but soon " 
 
 A lump was rising in Benson's throat. He felt 
 that he must do something for the girl. In what 
 way could he possibly prepare her for the inevitable 
 result of Clayton's perfidy ? There was every prob- 
 ability that he would not return to Bassa, and if 
 he did Frank strongly doubted whether the girl 
 would hold any attraction for him at a future date. 
 
 100
 
 Sarnie 
 
 The matter was both a difficult and a delicate 
 one to handle. But he advised her gently to return 
 to her people in Capemount, and to think no more 
 of white men. With every word he knew that 
 he was strangling her dreams of future happiness. 
 Clayton had taught her English, had shown her 
 the joy of her womanhood, was the father of her 
 child. In the eyes of this girl he would be a god, 
 a king. But Benson's rage was not against the 
 native girl so much as against the social custom 
 that permitted her to be degraded and rendered 
 miserable at the whim of a white man who had 
 paid for the possession of her body. 
 
 At first she looked at him reproachfully. This 
 quickly gave place to indignation. She clutched 
 the baby to her breast, and turned away. 
 
 " Goo'-bye," she said coldly. 
 
 Frank dined alone, and was very miserable for 
 the whole of the evening. The agent came in 
 flushed with his walk through the night. It was 
 about nine o'clock. 
 
 " Mrs. Wrigley and Maggie are on the next 
 steamer, I hear," he said. " I have just secured 
 a letter from the post office that has been lying 
 about since last week." 
 
 Benson expressed his pleasure at the news, and 
 they lapsed into animated conversation upon things 
 Mancunian. 
 
 It was on the following morning that he met 
 Jack Summerton for the first time. The young 
 negro had come down to the factory on behalf of 
 his uncle. Frank shrewdly suspected that the old 
 trader had brought about the meeting with the 
 intention of satisfying him as to his soundness of 
 
 101
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 judgment in selecting Jack Summerton as Lily's 
 prospective husband. Frank came up from the 
 store in answer to the call of his agent. 
 
 "Hullo, Mr. Benson," young Summerton said 
 freely. " How do you do ? Uncle says we are 
 to be friends." 
 
 " I am glad to meet you," said Benson shortly. 
 Then "How is Miss Summerton ?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, she's well." Jack glanced inquiringly at 
 the Englishman. Somehow it was not difficult to 
 discern the change of voice. 
 
 " She talks literature with you, doesn't she ? 
 Too bad, for a journalist on a holiday. Lily plays 
 so slow sometimes enough to give one the hump. 
 When she starts on the book question I always 
 clear out. But she rarely does that with me." 
 
 "Very probable," replied Frank drily. His 
 spirits had greatly improved. " In your case she 
 would not feel the same necessity for effort. You 
 would have greater facilities for conversation, I'll 
 be bound, if the book question were to be left out 
 altogether. Won't you have a cigarette ? " 
 
 Jack accepted willingly. He had a bright face 
 and well-curled hair ; but he dressed rather too 
 loudly for taste, and he carried an air of affectation. 
 They puffed away in silence for a time. 
 
 " It is some months since you were here before, 
 I believe," observed Frank presently. "You have 
 not visited the factory since I came to Liberia." 
 
 " No. You see, there is plenty to do at dad's 
 end of the town, and I spend all my spare time at 
 Ivy Cottage. But Lily is always out, or upstairs, 
 when I call." 
 
 He was disarmed by Benson's tone of growing 
 
 102
 
 Sarnie 
 
 friendliness, and leaned back in his chair comfort- 
 ably. 
 
 "That is rather unfortunate," said Frank con- 
 ventionally. He smiled nevertheless. 
 
 " It is a nuisance, I can tell you, after a fellow 
 
 has walked two miles to see her. The fact is " 
 
 He paused and looked closely at his companion. 
 " Well, there's a little matter that I have wanted 
 to mention to Lily now for some time, but for the 
 life of me I can't. Every time I see her I feel 
 that I simply daren't." 
 
 Frank only opened his eyes more widely. 
 
 " Lily seems to have changed since since you 
 came to Grand Bassa. She is more serious, more 
 booky, than ever. I remember the time when we 
 used to go bird-nesting together. And it isn't so 
 very long ago either." 
 
 Benson nodded. 
 
 " All day long now she pores over her magazines 
 and novels. It's the poorest thing I ever heard of. 
 I used to be the same once ; a long time ago. 
 Since dad has taken me into his business I seem 
 to care less for the eternal course of reading. And 
 Lily doesn't know that I am changed. That's the 
 devil of it. I want to show her that she is only 
 wasting time, and that we could be quite happy 
 together in Grand Bassa or Monrovia. But she 
 is eternally harping upon the string of England, 
 and that makes me feel mad." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Frank gravely. 
 
 " She got the craze first through her father's 
 enthusiasm for white culture," Jack went on in an 
 aggrieved voice. " Of course, you are an English- 
 man, and I cannot expect you to understand the 
 
 103
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 negro's standpoint. As a nation you are so beastly 
 proud. But we have a blood and a pedigree as 
 well as you. This Anglicising of Liberia is ruin- 
 ing the country. The mingling of white blood 
 with ours is removing our own racial power. 
 Besides, we have no real claim to a place in the 
 European nations as yet, and such aspirations are 
 sure to result in disaster." 
 
 " I am very sorry," repeated Frank. He began 
 to feel more friendly towards the negro who sat 
 opposite him, turning the rings round on his 
 fingers and looking moodily out at the sea. 
 
 " She thinks that the views of the two races can 
 be reconciled, and the chiefest reason why she cares 
 for you is that you are always striking that note in 
 your articles. I shouldn't have been born." 
 
 " My dear fellow, don't talk so hopelessly. Our 
 fates are in our own hands," said Frank, merely for 
 the sake of saying something. 
 
 " I know that 1 am unworthy of her. She is far 
 above me in every way. But when a chap has been 
 educated at the best school accessible, and is in a 
 prosperous position, he doesn't expect that the only 
 barrier between himself and the girl he loves shall 
 be that she is possessed of a whiter skin than he 
 can display. If my father had kept me at home 
 and sent me to the local school, I might have been 
 happier. There are so few really instructed girls 
 to be found here. In the old days I didn't feel the 
 difference so much ; but now I couldn't marry a 
 native. And Lily seems to have grown over my 
 head since last year. What is a fellow to do ? " 
 
 Benson made a sudden resolve. He would not 
 propose to Lily yet. If she seemed to favour the 
 
 104
 
 Sarnie 
 
 suit of her cousin, he would withdraw, and further 
 the cause of the young negro all he knew how. 
 He was amused at the youthful pessimism of Jack's 
 remarks, and felt anxious that his career should not 
 be spoiled by a disappointment. His own interest 
 in the case of Lily's decision seemed for the 
 moment to diminish. There was something novel 
 in the position that appealed to his sense of grim- 
 mest humour. He leaned forward and tapped his 
 companion on the arm. 
 
 " A counsellor is never thanked," he said. " But 
 I am determined to advise you. Promise me that 
 you won't be too resentful." 
 
 Jack looked more dejected than ever, but said, 
 "Go on." 
 
 " I like you for your frankness, and I think 
 I know why you have spoken so openly to me 
 on the first occasion of our meeting." He spoke 
 with that elaborate distinctness which he always 
 spent upon subjects that interested him. " I am 
 only a few years older than you perhaps three 
 but I have seen many nice fellows ruined through 
 mistakes in matrimony. The question hinges upon 
 the suitableness of your disposition to that of Miss 
 Summerton ; how do you know that you can make 
 her happy ? " 
 
 Jack shrinked. "What do you mean?" he 
 asked. " We are both of the one blood, members 
 of the one community, and we have known each 
 other from childhood." His lower lip was twitch- 
 ing, and his eyes looked troubled. 
 
 "This is what I mean. Your cousin is an 
 emotional girl, sensitive, cultured, educated. She 
 has probably met only one or two men in the 
 
 105
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 whole of her rustic life, and you, an impetuous, 
 hearty boy, were her companion as a child. You 
 loved this playmate. But since you have entered 
 into the business of your father's estate, she has 
 grown both mentally and spiritually. She is not 
 now the same Lily Summerton you knew a few 
 years ago. You are loving an illusionary creature." 
 
 He paused for a moment to finger the roses just 
 placed on the table by the boys. 
 
 " My advice to you is this. Seriously cultivate 
 for a few weeks the camaraderie that may exist 
 between yourself and Miss Summerton. If your 
 love grows, and you are satisfied that your views 
 are permanent ones, proffer your cousin marriage. 
 You may find I doubt not that you will that 
 you have been worshipping an image. Then you 
 will withdraw happier and wiser, leaving the field 
 to other men." 
 
 Jack's eyes remained fixed on the glimmering 
 expanse of ocean. Benson rose to his feet. " You 
 will be down at the Atlantic House to thank me in 
 a few weeks," he said. " Meantime I promise to 
 remain here, and hold no communication whatever 
 with Ivy Cottage except upon matters of business." 
 
 Jack too rose, and turned towards the door. " I 
 cannot thank you now," he said rather hotly. 
 " You are inclined to pedantry. I told Lily so 
 last week. But you may be right, and I promise 
 to play the game square." 
 
 He walked away from the house with the air of 
 a man upon whose next action depends the fate of 
 nations. Frank stood on the piazza watching his 
 swiftly retreating figure with a strange smile of 
 exultation. 
 
 106
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 LOVE I' THE HEART 
 
 " 'Tis a brief, brief madness " 
 
 JACK SUMMERTON went straight to Buchanan, 
 
 and to the house of his uncle. He had not been 
 to Ivy Cottage for nearly a month, and now he 
 carried his head in the air. His mind was filled 
 with high-souled resolves. 
 
 Lily came to him from the kitchen, her hands 
 covered with flour. She was mixing cakes for the 
 afternoon tea. 
 
 " Cousin Jack," she exclaimed delightedly. She 
 was genuinely pleased to see him, and laughed 
 because she could not offer him her hand. But she 
 put up her lips daintily, and Jack bent down to 
 kiss them. 
 
 " How is uncle ? " she asked. And they talked 
 unconnectedly for a period of people in the neigh- 
 bourhood. He had joined her at the little table, 
 covered with cakes, and now watched her nimble 
 manipulation of the paste with admiration. 
 
 " 1 say, Lil, let's go for a walk when you've 
 finished," he said suddenly. 
 
 " Mother's asleep. Let me take her a cup of tea 
 and a cake, and then I'll talk to you, sir." 
 
 She took the hot pieces of pastry from the oven, 
 107
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 spread a clean damask cloth on a tray, and then 
 tripped upstairs to her mother's room. " Mother 
 has been far from well for some time," she said 
 upon her return. " She cannot come down to see 
 you, but she sends her love. Now, let us have tea 
 ourselves." 
 
 Jack was in paradise or thought he was. After 
 tea had been cleared away by the woolly-headed 
 natives, Lily took up her hat. They walked 
 leisurely down the road. The sun was not too 
 hot, and they were soon outside the town and 
 in the open country. 
 
 They came over the brow of the hill that looms 
 behind Buchanan, and scaled the wooden fence of 
 an outlying farm. Then they turned into the bush, 
 and walked laughingly behind each other on the 
 narrow path, arriving at last upon a grassy expanse 
 of open land. It was a beautiful afternoon, and 
 Lily's face glowed with the strength of the fresh 
 air. Huge elms and palms dappled the ground 
 with light and shadow, and the girl looked happy 
 and bright. Jack gazed at her with quick and 
 tender looks. He felt furtively ashamed. 
 
 " I really believe you would make the world go 
 faster, Lil, if you could," he said, as she sped along 
 beside him. 
 
 " Well, it doesn't move very fast at present, does 
 it ? At any rate, we don't need to hold on because 
 of the rush in Grand Bassa." 
 
 As they swung on side by side they talked of 
 the days when they had trod the same fields in 
 search of flowers and butterflies. Jack paused 
 several times beneath a favourite tree and recalled 
 the wonder of the eggs found on yonder branch 
 
 1 08
 
 Love i' the Heart 
 
 or the brilliant beetle caught in that deep hole. 
 Often they had to leap over small pools of water, 
 and then they laughed as the mud splashed on the 
 further side. But they grew quieter as they 
 rounded the path that would bring them to the beach 
 again, and Jack became gloomy when Lily spoke 
 of Benson and of the books he had sent her from 
 time to time for perusal. 
 
 They had to pass an old dismantled house, and 
 observing his reserve, Lily paused before it. The 
 quaint old timbers and ruined steps possessed a 
 certain charm. Jack proposed that they should rest 
 for a time. They entered, and were soon delightedly 
 examining the interior with its faint reminiscences 
 of dead and gone occupants. The place was dark 
 and cool, in direct contrast with the sunshine 
 without. Their voices rang strangely colourable 
 in the empty rooms. On the balcony were several 
 old forms, and they seated themselves to continue 
 their playful banter. After awhile they began to 
 sing. Young Summerton's voice was a good 
 baritone, and accorded well with Lily's sweet 
 soprano. They sang several of the negro melo- 
 dies "The Old Kentucky Home," "We long 
 for Carolina" taught them by their parents. 
 Then they drifted into old English ballads. Their 
 voices went out into the stillness of the summer 
 afternoon and echoed over the fields, returning 
 with a purl like that of another pair of voices. 
 
 Jack ascended the stairs. The birds were chatter- 
 ing gaily in the gables. Lily laughed up at him 
 with her subtle glance as his face appeared at the 
 upper window. She commenced to hum gently, 
 and his voice rang out with a jubilant thrill 
 
 109
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 "I listen to the south winds gently sighing: 
 They speak of you" 
 
 Suddenly the song was taken up from beyond 
 the clearing in a clear tenor voice 
 
 " My Lily Lu, 
 
 To read the loving message I've been trying, 
 And it tells me that my love is true." 
 
 Jack hesitated for a moment in amaze. Then 
 he continued somewhat falteringly 
 
 "77/<? shadows of the night are softly falling, 
 
 My Lily Lu, so fond and true ; 
 The mocking birds and whippoorwilh are calling 
 To their mates as I call you" 
 
 Lily drew back into the house with a smile, and 
 sang the refrain. Benson was taking an evening 
 stroll. He raised his hat with profound respect 
 as he passed, but his face was eager. Lily began 
 to sing again as if in challenge 
 
 "Come to me, my Lady Lu " 
 
 She broke off with a laugh, and her eyes gleamed 
 with merriment. Jack had descended. Their song 
 was hushed for a space. Lily sat with an absent 
 look in her eyes. Her mind was in England, 
 with the crowds and the noise and the multi- 
 tudinous murmur of life. Jack knew nothing 
 of her thoughts. He only saw before him the 
 woman he loved, pensive, laughing, changeful. 
 He took her hand almost reverently in his, and sat 
 quietly by her side. 
 
 " Lily," he said at last, " I want to tell you some- 
 thing." 
 
 The girl glanced at his face and looked away 
 
 no
 
 Love i' the Heart 
 
 again. Her mind was still bemused. She had 
 only seen him in a momentary flash of conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 " I want you to promise me that you'll be my 
 wife some day," he said deliberately. 
 
 Lily turned round with suddenness. "Oh, Jack ! " 
 she cried painfully. She was greatly distressed, 
 but he mistook the emotion written large on her 
 face for pleasurable surprise. 
 
 " I know that you didn't expect it yet," he said 
 quietly ; " but you are the only girl I'd care to 
 marry in the whole of Grand Bassa." 
 
 " Poor Jack ! " said Lily tonelessly. " You are 
 wrong altogether in proposing to me. I can never 
 be your wife." 
 
 " You are going to marry that white chap," he 
 
 cried bitterly. "That " He stopped abruptly, 
 
 for she was looking at him with great piteousness. 
 His sense of injury and jealousy faded into 
 nothingness. " Oh, Lily, don't cry ! 1 am awfully 
 sorry I worried you." 
 
 She rose suddenly, and said with forced bright- 
 ness, " Let us go, Jack, you don't understand." 
 
 But young Summerton would not be satisfied 
 with any ambiguity. His companion and playmate 
 appeared to him in a specially lovable light as she 
 stood before him, her eyes glistening with tears. 
 She had placed one hand on the worm-eaten rail of 
 the steps and looked back at him with trembling 
 lips. " Come," she said. 
 
 He was in love with her. Until recently she 
 had cared more for him than for any other man in 
 Bassa. They had enjoyed themselves enormously 
 on this summer afternoon. The compatibility 
 
 in
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 of their temperaments was a proven fact. He 
 flung his arms around her and drew her head down 
 on to his breast. Lily was too numbed to resist. 
 Then he poured into her ears a strange miscellany 
 of broken sentences. 
 
 " I know that you must love me, Lil. Haven't 
 we been children together and grown up hand in 
 hand ? I would have waited for you a long time 
 in silence if that English fellow had not come to 
 Liberia." 
 
 Lily was laughing with restrained hysteria. 
 
 " Dear little Lil ! I was half afraid at first you 
 were going to say you liked him. Wasn't I a fool ? 
 I might have known that you would never think 
 of violating our social customs so far. We are 
 both of one blood, Lil, and I know I can make you 
 happy. Look up and kiss me, dear. Why, what 
 a lucky fellow 1 am the most happy man in Grand 
 Bassa ! " 
 
 Lily disengaged herself from his grasp. She was 
 crying behind her hands. His kisses had brought 
 the shamed colour into her cheeks, and when she 
 looked up the sunlight seemed to add an insult to 
 her misery. 
 
 " Stop, Jack, stop ! I don't know what you 
 mean. You must not talk of these things to me. 
 I can never be your wife. And you must not kiss 
 me again like that. I am your cousin, nothing 
 more." 
 
 She gave a despairing little gesture. 
 
 " Oh, what has come over the world ? Look 
 how dull and grey the fields are ! Let us go ! 
 let us go ! If you don't leave me soon I shall 
 choke." 
 
 112
 
 Love i' the Heart 
 
 She spoke passionately, tonelessly, aridly, and 
 started away with a bound. Jack stood still for a 
 few seconds after she had sped down the steps. 
 His brow was painfully contracted, and his lips 
 were trembling. He watched her stumble blindly 
 along the path and then disappear between the 
 trees. Her handkerchief had fallen across the rail. 
 He picked it up mechanically, and then hurried 
 after her. " I should never have been born," 
 he whispered. " What a world of pain it is 1 " 
 
 He reached her side, and supported her over 
 the fence. They were both silent and con- 
 strained. 
 
 " I was wrong, Lily," he said at last. " You are 
 different. The Englishman was right. It is no use 
 my thinking that you can remain in Liberia all 
 your life. And a fellow like me has nothing to do 
 with foreign countries." 
 
 For nearly ten minutes she was quiet, evidently 
 thinking of his words. Then she looked at him in 
 some surprise. 
 
 " Have you met Mr. Benson ? " 
 
 " Yes, this morning, and he's a conceited boun- 
 der," he said savagely. Her reserve irritated him. 
 All the buoyant hopes of the early morning had 
 fallen to ashes. 
 
 " He is not a bounder," cried Lily indignantly. 
 " How dare you speak so of him ? And he is not 
 conceited. He has been very kind to me, and he 
 is the cleverest man I ever met." 
 
 " You haven't seen many," said Jack, still 
 aggressively. 
 
 " No, I have not. But I know a gentleman when 
 I meet one, and you have no right to abuse a man 
 H 113
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 whom you have had no opportunities of under- 
 standing." 
 
 They walked the rest of the way in complete 
 silence. There was a crimson shimmer from the 
 setting sun upon the sea as they entered Buchanan, 
 and the night birds were awakening. The trees 
 seemed to hang over the path like the outstretched 
 wings of an angel ; but far away could be heard 
 the cough of a leopard. 
 
 Lily halted at the gate, and Jack turned his face 
 away. " Good-bye, Lil," he said. " I am the first 
 to congratulate you. Benson will make you happy 
 maybe." 
 
 The words came reluctantly from his lips. The 
 final hopelessness of his position had been apparent 
 to him since Benson's name was mentioned, and his 
 fame defended, by Lily. She did not ask him the 
 meaning of his words, but touched him beseechingly 
 on his arm. 
 
 " You will come and see us sometimes ? " she 
 murmured. 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose so." 
 
 " Then good night, Jack. Poor boy ! " She 
 laughed a little at the look of unwonted seriousness 
 on his face, and ran into the garden. He had 
 hardly crossed the road before she had caught up 
 with him again, breathless, penitent, apologetic. 
 
 " Really, Jack, I am so sorry. Daddy had set his 
 mind upon it, I know. But it would only make 
 you unhappy, believe me. I love you just the same 
 as ever, dear old playmate." 
 
 She flung her arms around him in her impulsive 
 way. But Jack shook her hands off surlily, and 
 continued his way homeward. 
 
 114
 
 Love i' the Heart 
 
 " What is the matter, Jack r " the girl asked, 
 walking beside him in great perplexity. " I didn't 
 think you would mind so very much." 
 
 " Oh, it's all right, Lil. Don't mind me. I'm a 
 nasty-tempered nigger. Go home, and forget all 
 about it. I'll come and see you sometimes." 
 
 She turned away, only half satisfied. " Good 
 night, then." When she entered the parlour her 
 eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 Her father had just returned from the farm, and 
 Mrs. Summerton had managed to come downstairs 
 for dinner. The great topic of conversation was 
 the latest development in the case of Clayton. The 
 piassava-grower spoke feelingly of the betrayed Vey 
 girl, and condemned the laxity of morals which 
 permitted such a denouement. 
 
 " Oh, daddy, I do wish you would leave the 
 affairs of the white people alone," she said. " We 
 seem to have gone mad upon matters English. 
 I am tired of hearing of the Atlantic House and 
 its occupants." 
 
 And perhaps, viewed in the light of the events of 
 the last few hours, her sudden revulsion of feeling 
 was a natural one.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 HIGH HOPES 
 
 " Bear in mind we are all descended from a certain disrepu- 
 table old gardener, who was turned out of his master's 
 garden for stealing his apples" 
 
 TT has frequently been asserted, and with reason, 
 that every country is responsible for the emotional 
 attributes of its inhabitants. Not the mere visitor, 
 who views the landscape with the prejudiced vision 
 of an alien, but the child bred upon the soil, can 
 recognise its potential influences. The mood of 
 the casual observer gives unto the neighbourhood 
 an invariable issue. Temperament is the only 
 natural exponent of local features, and to the 
 native each tree, each blade of grass, possesses its 
 own peculiar significance. 
 
 Could we all think alike, and receive impressions 
 of the one uniform colour and tone, the traveller 
 would be an unnecessary and neglected member of 
 the community. For there would then be an end 
 to all survey, and simply to portray a landscape 
 would be an ample description of any verdant 
 scene synonymous with that which it was originally 
 intended to denote. 
 
 That we have not yet arrived at so successful 
 a departure from the rules of the verbal delineator 
 
 116
 
 High Hopes 
 
 is perhaps to be regretted. There is always the 
 sorcery of reminiscence. The stern individuality 
 of blood is undeniable, and the ordinary negro- 
 child born amid such an environment as Grand 
 Bassa is so far susceptible to its surroundings as to 
 disregard the maker of maps. There is no impor- 
 tunate development of talent to be remembered, no 
 irrevocable history of unimpeachable progenitors to 
 be borne, no stringent moral code to be followed, 
 no tyrannical standard of noblesse oblige to be main- 
 tained. With an almost cynical indifference the 
 Liberian Negro evades the feverish impulse of 
 progress felt among his American and West Indian 
 brothers, and retains the character usual to the 
 accident of having been born outside the pale. The 
 houses are epidermic, and labour is utilitarian only. 
 
 Because Lily Summerton was so different from 
 the usual run of people in Grand Bassa, Frank 
 Benson felt strangely attracted to her. Summer- 
 ton tried more than once to find out Lily's 
 intentions. He spoke to her jokingly, and yet 
 with a certain degree of anxiety, of her cousin 
 Jack, and strove to discover her real feelings 
 towards him. He was desirous of seeing his 
 daughter settled down in life, and although she 
 replied frankly enough to his questions, she always 
 spoke of herself as a visionary person. He was 
 left quite in the dark regarding her private opinions. 
 Once as they were speaking of England, apropos 
 of a new parcel of novels from Mudie's, she said 
 
 " When I go to England " 
 
 " You are going to England, then ? " her father 
 asked in some astonishment, and with no little 
 amusement at her decided tone. 
 
 117
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " Certainly, when I am married." 
 
 " When will that be, Lily ? " asked her mother. 
 
 The girl laughed with the old sparkle of eyes 
 and twinkling of teeth. " Oh, one is sure to 
 marry sooner or later. But I really intend to 
 spend my honeymoon in London." 
 
 It had been one of Summerton's pet theories 
 for many years that an admixture of negro and 
 Caucasian blood justified a man in giving his chil- 
 dren a thoroughly European education. For this 
 reason he had not hesitated to instil into Lily's 
 mind a fervour for things English. Now he 
 hesitated. He wanted Lily to marry her cousin, 
 whom he knew to be agricultural in his tendencies. 
 Jack would live and die in Liberia, and Europe 
 possessed few charms for him. It was hard indeed 
 to abuse his beliefs, and he realised that such 
 treachery to his lifelong English patriotism would 
 be almost blasphemous. But he said decisively 
 
 " There may be many disadvantages in town of 
 which you know nothing, Lily. Remember, there 
 are miles and miles of monotonous streets and 
 dreary alleys in all English towns. They would 
 be unendurable to one who has been brought up 
 in the open air. Unless you have plently of money, 
 existence in London, or Liverpool, or Manchester 
 would be a terrible experience." 
 
 He gave his imagination full rein, and conjured 
 up a most deplorable picture of the lives of people 
 who live in a town on limited incomes. He spoke 
 of the dull grind of labour from early on Monday 
 morning until noon on Saturday ; of the unattain- 
 able delights of privacy ; the invariable worry over 
 pounds, shillings, and pence. Then he tried to 
 
 118
 
 High Hopes 
 
 prove that only few pleasures are to be found in 
 the common paths of life. For the most, he talked 
 pretty much at random, drawing upon his memory 
 of the American cities of a decade ago. And he 
 spoke unconvincingly : his fervour was feigned ; 
 Lily only smiled. 
 
 " Oh, daddy, daddy ! All the wealth of Liberia's 
 vegetation and undiscovered minerals would not 
 compensate me for the joy of a crowd, the happi- 
 ness of the Strand after dark, the long, long reaches 
 of electric-lighted thoroughfares. 
 
 Mr. Summerton gave up his self-imposed task 
 of persuading her that Grand Bassa was a desirable 
 home. " What is to become of the girl ? " he 
 asked his wife in a tone of heart's love and tender- 
 ness. 
 
 The scene with Jack was still dominant in Lily's 
 memory when she received a letter from him. 
 She kept the envelope long unopened. Then she 
 read it with deliberation. The words ran : 
 
 " MY DEAR COUSIN LIL, 
 
 " You mustn't mind me. I was a fool, and 
 I am only sorry that I didn't recognise the fact 
 before I caused you so much pain with my 
 ridiculous persistence. But I was badly knocked 
 over that afternoon, so don't mind my grumpiness 
 at parting. Of course, your decision must be a 
 sensible one, or it wouldn't have been uttered. I 
 ought never to have been born, none the less. 
 From childhood I had thought that you cared for 
 me, and until Benson came to Bassa I deemed it 
 possible that I should have all the wooing to 
 myself. He isn't a bad chap for a white man. 
 
 119
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 We agreed to leave the whole thing in your hands, 
 and he kindly cried off for a month. I have 
 written to him this morning, telling him to go in 
 and win. Until I met him I never gave these 
 Englishmen a serious thought. A literary fellow 
 like him always seemed so dreary to me ; but then, 
 you see, I've lost my taste for books, and I never 
 cared for belles lettres at any time. I read a poem 
 of Benson's in one of the English magazines some 
 months ago something about ' dewy stillnesses ' 
 and * pastures fringed with ribbons white' and 
 since then I have always thought of him as an old 
 woman. Don't mind my opinions. Of course, 
 I'm an ignorant ass. I won't bother you any more 
 about that matter ; but when you are a great 
 English lady I hope you won't forget that Liberia 
 is the dearest little spot on God's earth. If I can 
 serve you in any way don't hesitate to tell me. 
 
 "JACK." 
 
 He was still prepared to care for her then, 
 although he believed that she was forsaking her 
 country to follow strange gods. How typical 
 these broken sentences were of his impassioned yet 
 tender nature ! She drew her breath in quick 
 gasps. " Dear old boy ! " she whispered. And 
 for a long time she sat before the table thinking 
 of her happy childhood. Then she wrote him a 
 short reply : 
 
 "You are a good fellow, Jack. I acted very 
 ungraciously towards you the other day, but you 
 must forgive me. I want your friendship always. 
 Come and see me whenever you wish." 
 
 It was not until three weeks later that Benson 
 
 120
 
 High Hopes 
 
 stood at the garden gate in Buchanan. He had 
 adhered strictly to his promise ; the month had 
 passed. Jack Summerton's letter had surprised 
 him by its suddenness ; but the result was what 
 he had fully expected. Several times Mr. Wrigley 
 had asked him to make it convenient to visit the 
 farm. Frank had seized the opportunity offered 
 by Jack Summerton's final withdrawal from the 
 suit. The agent gave him three days' liberty in 
 which to report upon the trade. The actual work 
 had gradually diminished with the advance of the 
 rainy season, and Summerton was now giving his 
 attention to the planting of rice. Lily's greeting 
 was entirely without embarrassment, and she 
 seemed to have lost somewhat of her ancient air 
 of intimacy. 
 
 They had late breakfast together in the old 
 room, and Summerton was intensely pleased to 
 have the young journalist with him again. Lily's 
 mother still looked pale and wan, and it was 
 obvious to an impartial spectator that Death had 
 laid his icy hand upon her. From time to time 
 the negro looked acroso ~ n lable at her, and his 
 eyes were full of perplexity. These are the trials 
 of the great change. To see the bodily presence 
 of our beloved mortality put off little by little its 
 accustomed aspect, and gradually attire itself in the 
 fearful garments of the grave. To witness the 
 change from the ruddy familiarity of health into 
 the awful elements of decay. Immediately the 
 table had been cleared she ascended painfully to 
 her room, and Benson could hear her gasping from 
 time to time. 
 
 And now Lily became more of a surprise than 
 
 121
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 ever to Frank. Her life had been so cramped, 
 that it seemed incredible she should possess so 
 much knowledge upon different subjects. What- 
 ever items of information came in her way she 
 eagerly received, and she seemed to have the ability 
 of easy digestion. Conversations that Benson had 
 deemed trivial at the moment remained in her 
 mind, and extracts were quoted with marvellous 
 accuracy. Everything that came to her was utilised 
 to advantage. 
 
 She had still her parcels of magazines from 
 England, but she had gone in for heavier reading 
 since Benson's advent into their family circle. 
 These books she made to add to her store of 
 general information. Benson was piqued to find 
 that she showed no inclination to read what he had 
 himself written in Manchester. He wondered 
 whether this nonchalance arose from a desire to 
 puzzle him, or from pure naturalness. Finally 
 he determined that the latter was the correcter 
 opinion. He knew that Lily could not keep 
 secret from him her feelings upon literary subjects 
 for any length of time. 
 
 For one who professed to have a wide and 
 optimistic outlook upon life, Frank Benson could 
 be easily moved by trifles. Lily's novel self- 
 possession and slight coldness in his presence did 
 not serve to raise his spirits. The day had become 
 suddenly damp, cold, brumal. But when the even- 
 ing approached, and the sea had drawn on her 
 garments of silver and blue, she took him upstairs 
 to the organ-room and sang to him. Under the 
 friendly influence of the music she relaxed, and 
 soon they were talking in the old intimate way. 
 
 122
 
 High Hopes 
 
 Lily's voice charmed him greatly. He had always 
 had the tendency to like things which other people 
 condemned. As he listened to the sweet but weird 
 singing he admitted that her methods were not 
 completely to be vindicated. But the effect upon 
 his mind was electrical. When he parted with 
 her at the head of the stairs he felt her fascination 
 to have grown. 
 
 The next day a bazaar was organised in honour 
 of a visit from the Bishop of Monrovia. A concert 
 was to be the crowning feature of the effort. 
 Frank received a courteous invitation to recite. 
 He accepted only when he heard that Lily was 
 to sing. The Church dignitary was a notable 
 person ; so a new frock had to be donned for the 
 occasion. When the girl appeared before Benson 
 in pale amber and white he cried out rapturously. 
 His opinion had been asked in the arranging of 
 the programme, and he had selected such songs for 
 Lily as he knew she could sing most passionately. 
 
 They had to walk to the Government House, at 
 which place the concert was to be held, and a boy 
 preceded them with a lamp. They walked slowly, 
 as the moon was frequently obscured behind a 
 bank of clouds. But the trees were fragrant and 
 the night very fresh. 
 
 " What do you think of England to-night ? " 
 asked Benson, as he plucked a wayside blossom 
 duskily shining among the bush. 
 
 They were in no hurry, and loitered by the 
 roadsides. Lily laughed a little. " I had forgotten 
 it for the moment," she said merrily. 
 
 " If you were in London or Manchester now, 
 you would be yearning for Liberia, I know."
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " Maybe," she said in a musing voice. " But 
 how little of suffering would upset the placid 
 beauty of the night ! You need only be harsh 
 with me for a moment, then all would be dark. 
 Now in England there are countless distractions to 
 cover the anguish and the pain." 
 
 " It is strange how alike we are in temperament, 
 Lily. I have been the willing slave of town life as 
 much as you would possibly be. But I became 
 satisfied at last." 
 
 "Are we alike?" she asked. "Sometimes 1 think 
 we are totally dissimilar. The likeness is really 
 very indefinite. But we are in sympathy with one 
 another on a great number of subjects. I feel your 
 changes of mood so quickly. We may be laughing 
 together over something, and everything appears so 
 beautiful. Then, quite suddenly, I feel that some- 
 thing has sprung up between us. I look at your 
 face. The thought is written there : you too have 
 felt the change. Haven't you noticed ? " 
 
 Benson took her hand in his before he answered. 
 The lights of the concert-room were glimmering 
 just ahead. "You are a sensitive little girl," he 
 said, with a half-laugh. 
 
 " And yet on the surface, how different from 
 each other we must be ! You are an educated 
 Englishman a man of letters. I am a primitive 
 Liberian girl, born of negro ancestry." 
 
 A moment later they entered the hall, and Lily 
 joined her friends near the platform. 
 
 124
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 A LOCAL EVENT 
 
 " If thou seest anything in thyself which may make thee proude 
 look a little further, and thou shalt find enough to humble thee " 
 
 A LL Grand Bassa county was present. The visits 
 of the Bishop were not frequent. He was an 
 old man, with patriarchal beard and large spectacles. 
 The platform was occupied by several local mer- 
 chants, and Benson looked from them to the 
 assembly. The faces were nearly all familiar, 
 though many were of residents belonging to the 
 outlying towns. They all smiled upon him, for 
 Frank was deservedly popular. 
 
 The preparatory stages of the entertainment 
 were amusing, owing in the main to the officious- 
 ness of certain busy Church people. Benson smiled 
 his contentment as he realised the improvement 
 which his ease manifested. Under his old rest- 
 lessness he would have been impatient, miserable. 
 When his name was called he ascended the plat- 
 form with the pulse of a child. 
 
 He recited "The Death of Eva," in prose, from 
 Mrs. Beecher Stowe's famous novel. At first his 
 voice sounded weak in the great room, but as he 
 continued it gathered volume. The wild, plaintive 
 pathos of the description admirably suited his 
 voice, and murmurs of approval followed his 
 
 125
 
 impassioned periods. When he had finished there 
 was deafening applause. The whole house insisted 
 upon an encore. He gave them "The Slave's 
 Dream." But his impressionable voice broke on 
 the last lines, and they cried for him again in vain. 
 He was at the door, watching the silent stars. 
 
 He re-entered the hall after a time. Most of 
 the songs were of the sickly sentimental kind, and 
 sung by ladies of doubtful musical ability. They 
 were followed by men with voices like undeveloped 
 thunder, who chanted belligerently of the sea and 
 the storm. Sometimes a less ambitious youth 
 would sing of his home in far Kentucky, and 
 Frank would inwardly acclaim the words as 
 genuine and sincere. Lily's turn came about nine 
 o'clock, and then his interest increased. She sang 
 " She Wore a Wreath of Roses " with deep pathos, 
 and many eyes grew moist as the words wailed 
 out 
 
 "... I saw her bitt a moment^ 
 
 Yet methinks I see her now, 
 
 With a wreath of summer roses 
 
 Upon her snowy brow." 
 
 Excitement had made her voice rounder and 
 fuller, and the audience was appreciative. Her 
 second song was " Comin' Through the Rye." 
 Frank thought her a sweet embodiment of purity 
 in her amber dress with its filmy white trimmings. 
 She put an abandon and a grace into the lilting 
 Scotch lines that might have made one question 
 where this fragile child, so apparently young and 
 innocent, had learnt the lesson of love. The con- 
 trast to the earlier part of the programme was most 
 refreshing, and Frank felt glad that he had come. 
 
 126
 
 A Local Event 
 
 He rose after the closing prayer of the Bishop 
 feeling at peace with himself and all the world. 
 But his mood suddenly changed. Lily stood near 
 the platform talking with a group of people, and 
 among these he espied Jack Summerton. Lily 
 was laughing pleasantly at something her cousin 
 had said, and presently she withdrew in his com- 
 pany to an unfrequented corner of the room. 
 Frank was more displeased with himself for 
 letting a trifle like this upset him, than with Lily 
 for being the cause of his disquiet. Had he heard 
 the conversation he would not have frowned so 
 heavily. 
 
 Jack's face had lost its smile as he sat down by 
 the side of his cousin. Neither of them spoke for 
 a moment or two, and the young negro cleared his 
 throat uncomfortably. He stared moodily at the 
 door, where Benson stood waiting. 
 
 " I got your letter," he said, " and I shall try to 
 be friendly, just the same as ever." 
 
 " Yes," said the girl ; "I am glad of that, 
 Jack." 
 
 But after having delivered themselves of these 
 two very commonplace remarks a deeper silence fell 
 upon them. Lily glanced hesitatingly at the 
 slowly emptying hall, and wondered whether more 
 concentrated uneasiness could be crowded into a 
 few minutes. Frank was obviously becoming im- 
 patient, and he was looking towards her with a 
 question in his eyes. 
 
 " That fellow seems to haunt you yet," said Jack 
 savagely. 
 
 " Cousin Jack " she leaned forward, and said in 
 a voice that she could hardly recognise as her own 
 
 127
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " if you persist in speaking slightingly of Mr. 
 Benson I shall never look at you again." 
 
 He lifted his head and stared at her in amaze. 
 Such an outburst of anger was unusual. Then he 
 turned away again. 
 
 "All right. I shall remember that. It means 
 that I need never come to Buchanan again." 
 
 She wanted to take him by the arm and tell him 
 that his prejudices were absurd, that Benson was a 
 dear friend of hers. She wished to tell him that 
 she cared for him still, but that somehow Frank 
 Benson filled her heart more fully. How could 
 she send her old playmate heartlessly away ? But 
 there was something that resembled admonishment 
 so much largely written on his face that she felt 
 warned. He had something more to say. " You 
 don't mean that surely," she whispered lamely. 
 
 Jack's face softened a little. " I am sorry for 
 you, Lily ; and I didn't mean to hurt you." 
 
 " What is the matter, Jack ? Why should you 
 be sorry for me ? I thought you had forgotten all 
 that happened a few weeks ago. Why won't you 
 be friends as before ? You are so strange, so 
 peculiar. You almost frighten me." 
 
 " Don't think of me at all, Lil. I'm disappointed 
 and sore, that's all. But I must see fair play. 
 I can't recognise the fun of a man's fooling about 
 with a girl if he has no intention of marrying her. 
 Damn these white men ! seducing innocent girls 
 and then deserting them without a qualm. You 
 had better be careful, Lil. That is all." 
 
 So these were his thoughts ? The hot blood 
 suffused her brow, her cheeks, her neck. She felt 
 wounded and ashamed. But she could not take 
 
 128
 
 A Local Event 
 
 offence. He had spoken the truth ; no white man 
 within her memory had honourably married a native 
 or a Liberian woman. 
 
 " You don't understand, Jack. Why won't you 
 see that I am different from other girls ? I know 
 there have been many scandals in Bassa. But Mr. 
 Benson and I are friends. Oh, Jack, Jack, you 
 cannot say that you are permitting such a base 
 doubt to stand between us ? I trusted you, Jack, 
 and thought you loved me." 
 
 " Poor Lil ! " he said more gently. " I shall 
 come and see you to-morrow. Forgive me for my 
 bitterness. Good night." 
 
 Haunted by her cousin's suspicious and changed 
 manner, she joined Benson at the door. It was a 
 beautifully clear night now : the moon had sailed 
 out into the open sky. The stars were numerous 
 and bright beyond their habit. The breeze came 
 gratefully from the sea, and there was ever the 
 sonorous plash of the waves upon the beach. The 
 birds were still relentlessly moving in the trees, 
 and ever and anon a leopard coughed in the bush. 
 Then came the elusive sounds of voices from the 
 roads as the people wended their homeward ways, 
 and anon little ripples of laughter. They wandered 
 by quiet paths and unfrequented grass-plots. 
 
 Many thoughts were agitating Benson's mind. 
 He was jealous, and if he could be moved to 
 jealousy he must be seriously in love. Lily had 
 always been recognised as the only girl whose 
 beauty stirred him. But his lifelong celibacy had 
 made his wooing tardy, indolent, inactive. It 
 amounted to this : if the actions of Lily were of 
 such importance to him as to render him suspicious 
 i 129
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 of her movements, he must quickly obtain the 
 right to protect her. To-night he felt too offended 
 to propose ; but he would not return to the Atlantic 
 House until he was the recognised lover of this 
 little Liberian girl. 
 
 They grew tired of their wandering at last, and 
 returned to the house. Supper was laid, and Mrs. 
 Summerton had regained a little of her wonted 
 colour. Frank helped Lily to remove her cloak, 
 and her hair gleamed brightly in the lamplight. 
 
 "Aren't you rather late?" asked Mrs. Summerton. 
 "The Thomsons passed the house half an hour 
 ago. I suppose you have been for a walk. Joe 
 and I have been wondering how the concert went 
 on. I badly wanted to go. We heard all about 
 your part, Mr. Benson. But we want to know 
 how Lily sang." 
 
 Benson stood at the foot of the stairs. He cried 
 out as he ascended, " She did wonderfully well. 
 * Comin' Through the Rye ' was the success of the 
 evening." 
 
 " Well done ! " said Mrs. Summerton in great 
 delight. " The Thomsons are always so cold. The 
 fairest flowers in our garden are always 'just 
 passable ' when one asks for an opinion. But I was 
 sure that Lily had succeeded." 
 
 Frank was moving about his room, while one of 
 the boys lighted his lamp. He heard no more of 
 the conversation. A few minutes later he was 
 seated at the supper-table. Mrs. Summerton always 
 talked extensively when she felt well enough, and 
 it was hard to resist the impulse to indulge in 
 repartee. Benson's earlier vexation partly dis- 
 appeared, and he found himself laughing over the 
 
 130
 
 A Local Event 
 
 items in the programme as he described them at 
 length. Then there followed a crowd of questions 
 about English pleasures, and he was involved in an 
 enthusiastic delineation of theatres and music-halls, 
 concert-rooms and singing-academies. They listened 
 admiringly, and Summerton began to talk upon 
 matters nearer to him. He praised liberally certain 
 of Frank's local articles, declaring that the young 
 Englishman was on the way to fame. Benson made 
 a deprecatory gesture. 
 
 " Don't mention notoriety or fame," he said 
 almost irritably. 
 
 Once or twice he had realised that Lily was 
 unaccountably silent upon the matters under 
 discussion, and he was conscious of her keen 
 regard from time to time. He felt unduly em- 
 barrassed. Had she guessed his intentions, and 
 was she anticipating his offer ? The thought dis- 
 pleased him. 
 
 " Why ? " she now asked suddenly. " Surely to 
 be somebody of importance is a great thing." 
 
 " Nothing can be dearer to the heart of a man 
 who cares for his work than to be loved and ad- 
 mired by the public. But there is another side 
 to the subject. This is criticism. There is 
 real, sound, honest review, I know ; but a well- 
 known author is always being misrepresented and 
 misunderstood. All his faults are posted to his 
 debit in the ledger of his country. Now he is 
 flattered ; now censured ; now praised ; now vilified. 
 He has no leisure. He is talked of to such an ex- 
 tent that calumny results oftener than justice. He 
 is ever being unfavourably reviewed by those offi- 
 cious persons who can create nothing themselves, 
 
 131
 
 but are always ready to point out the imperfections 
 of better men. His name is maligned " 
 
 Summerton's eyes were twinkling with laughter, 
 and Frank returned him glance for glance. 
 
 " Has something upset you, my lad ? " he asked, 
 with mock sympathy. Then turning to Lily he 
 said, " What is that English expression which the 
 lady writers use so often ? Oh yes, the hump. 
 You have the hump, Frank." 
 
 Benson laughed. " Yes. Whole volumes might 
 be written upon the psychological origin of the 
 hump. Perhaps in the present case it can be as- 
 cribed to the cause given by Kipling laziness. 
 
 " ' The camel's hump is an ugly lump, 
 
 Which well you may see at the Zoo ; 
 But uglier yet is the hump we get 
 From having too little to do!* 
 
 I shall do some work to-morrow." 
 
 There was a general smile, and then silence for a 
 space. 
 
 " Fame is a glorious thing," mused Lily. " Think 
 of the power of the orator. He draws by his im- 
 passioned words the hearts and souls of the multi- 
 tudes, and stirs them by the finer impulses of his 
 inspired imagination." 
 
 " The statesman, too," said her father. " The 
 country depends upon him for political encourage- 
 ment and assistance. Or the soldier leading his 
 nation on to victory and winning the admiration 
 of the millions by his bravery." 
 
 " If I were not a maker of books," said Frank, 
 " I should envy most the scientist, the analyst, the 
 prover. He invents something which blesses not 
 
 132
 
 A Local Event 
 
 only his generation, but infinite races of future 
 men." 
 
 Lily's cheeks were flushed with the ardour of 
 her thoughts. " The sculptor or painter whose 
 works are preserved with reverent care and wor- 
 shipped through the centuries possesses a glorious 
 fame. Then there is the actor and actress who, 
 with a genius second only to that of the dramatist 
 himself, gives to his noble thoughts adequate ex- 
 pression and movement. And Frank's cynical 
 remarks which he doesn't really mean about 
 authorship are wrong. The writer's fame is the 
 best of all. His words compel the sympathies of 
 the hard-hearted and bring laughter bubbling up 
 into the mouths and eyes of the dullest." 
 
 Summerton turned to Frank, and said with 
 something that was well-nigh authority 
 
 "And now that we have all had our periods, 
 withdraw your first statement." 
 
 " No, Mr. Summerton. I love my work, and 
 I have a boundless admiration for all genius. But 
 my contention regarding the worries and unhappi- 
 nesses of fame remains unaltered. There is far 
 more suffering than joy to be obtained from 
 eminence in any field of creative thought." 
 
 He paused. Then he continued solemnly : 
 " But strange paradox no true worker can lay 
 down his task. As Ruskin once wrote to Frank 
 Norris, * If you are actually called, my young friend, 
 you will die with a pen in your hand.' And so 
 indeed he did." 
 
 'S3
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 ONE DAY NEARER 
 
 " A vastness maketh rich my soul " 
 
 AX/'HEN supper had been removed, and Mrs. 
 Summerton had retired to bed, Lily brought 
 out her father's cigars, and he sat near the open 
 window smoking. Benson chatted with him for 
 a few minutes. The sky was still bright and 
 luminous and the air cool and tranquil. Lily was 
 still busy at the sideboard. He went to his room 
 after excusing himself and took out his manuscripts. 
 This present article he had been engaged upon for 
 the last few days. He read over the last passages 
 critically 
 
 " The Negro stands essentially in need of indus- 
 trial education and a sense of higher, purer, nobler 
 culture. Fully ninety per cent, of the negro race 
 throughout the world, it is computed, must presently 
 be engaged in some form of manual labour, and the 
 great regret is that during the whole of his long 
 industrial apprenticeship the black has not learned 
 that nice adaptation of means to an end, or mastered 
 his environments in a degree sufficient for him 
 to claim prominence in the world of thought. In 
 Liberia the negro is at home, and every man 
 should be employed in a profitable pursuit. But 
 
 134
 
 One Day Nearer 
 
 industries, apart from the cultivation of the 
 country's more insistent produce palm oil, kernels, 
 coffee, and piassava are undeveloped. The 
 Liberian is dependent almost wholly upon Europe 
 for the requirements of civilisation." 
 
 He worked actively for half an hour. There 
 were many figures to consult, but he scribbled a 
 few stray thoughts before he laid his sheets aside. 
 
 He often wrote at random. But he knew now 
 as he closed the drawer in which he kept his papers 
 that the essay upon " Negro Development " would 
 be influenced by the events of the morrow. There 
 came a knock to his door, and he opened it in 
 some surprise. It was Lily. 
 
 "Daddy has thought of visiting the factory 
 to-morrow morning. He has just caught sight of 
 the steamer's lamps outside the harbour. Mrs. 
 Wrigley and her daughter will, no doubt, be on 
 board. He asks you to write, if you have any 
 message, to your agent." 
 
 "No, I shall not write. In another two days 
 I shall be, returning." 
 
 Again he noticed the same watchful expression 
 in her eyes that had unnerved him over supper. 
 " Did you see my cousin Jack at the concert ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Yes from a distance. He is well, I hope ? " 
 
 Lily laughed lightly, and pulled a petal from the 
 flower at her breast. " You English people are so 
 funny. You generally mean only half of the 
 words you say. There was a most ominous 
 frown on your face during the whole of the time 
 I was talking to him." 
 
 Benson ignored the remark. "You sang very
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 prettily, Lily better than I have heard you for 
 a long time." 
 
 " The people didn't care for it much." 
 
 " My dear child, what do you expect ? I thought 
 they snowed a fair degree of intelligence. * She 
 Wore a Wreath of Roses ' is not the kind of thing 
 they go wild about in Bassa. Had you sung 
 * Hullo, ma Baby,' you would have had no reason 
 to complain about scanty applause." 
 
 They heard Summerton fastening the front door, 
 and she turned towards the other staircase. " Oh, 
 by the way, every year my father goes into the 
 interior seeking ivories. You should have some 
 big game shooting, Mr. Benson. There are magni- 
 ficent elephants to the northward. I will propose 
 you to dad as a companion." 
 
 He thanked her, and for long after the house 
 was silent sat watching the stream of moon radiance 
 upon the waters. His feelings towards Lily re- 
 mained unchanged. In the first fervour of his 
 passion nearly a year before he had deemed it 
 possible that the fire would burn out, the sentiment 
 disappear. The barriers of caste between them 
 had then seemed insuperable. Now they were 
 non-existent. The experiment of rest and change, 
 which had begun when he sailed from Liverpool 
 in the summer of the previous year, was surely 
 a success. Lily would crown his happiness when 
 he married her. For he would not admit that 
 there were any social differences of moment. Lily 
 and he had always been companions, lovers of the 
 one kind of mental food. He wanted a companion 
 in his home, not an image to be worshipped from 
 afar. What mattered that her skin was darker 
 
 136
 
 One Day Nearer 
 
 than his own ? The girl understood him, as no 
 woman since his mother had ever comprehended 
 his moods, and she seemed to have an appreciation 
 of work done for work's sake alone. 
 
 And so he sat and dreamed of the future. He 
 had left a few blank sheets on his desk, and these 
 fluttered helplessly in the gusts of wind from the 
 outside air. Half unconsciously he put them aside, 
 and turned down his lamp. The future appeared 
 unusually bright, and he took up his pen thought- 
 fully. An idea was in his mind, clear, precise, 
 imperative. He must write it down. It might 
 die away, as such thoughts sometimes do. 
 
 He headed his sheet " The Reason." Then 
 he smiled as he wrote the lines, eagerly and 
 cautiously : 
 
 " A vastness maketh rich my soul, 
 
 And all around I know 'tis spring; 
 I sense the universal whole, 
 
 And grandly learn my song to sing, 
 Because 
 
 " The riddle of my heart is guessed, 
 The intricate hath found a key ; 
 I see tJiefair, and know the best, 
 I have the strength and subtlety, 
 Because / love you ! 
 
 " I feel a tenderness at heart 
 
 That was but gentle heretofore, 
 That once was lonely and apart, 
 But now is perfect evermore, 
 Because 
 
 " Shadows that wrapped it like a shroud, 
 
 And hid its secrets from my view, 
 Flee swiftly like a morning cloud, 
 And soft as early autumn dew, 
 Because / love you I 
 
 137
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " The pathos of a weary dirge 
 
 Once was the melody I heard ; 
 But now the thunders round me surge 
 Of the world's heart to music stirred. 
 Because 
 
 " And with those organ tones I seem 
 
 To blend the stops of coming years. 
 The crashing sweetness of a dream, 
 The diapason of the spheres, 
 Because / love you I " 
 
 It was in the early hours of the morning that he 
 retired to bed. The moon was still flooding the 
 room with light. There was the sleepy cry of the 
 pepper-bird and the black cuckoo from the trees, 
 and soon a cock began to crow lustily. He lay 
 for some time musing over the incidents of the 
 previous day and murmuring scraps from his 
 poem that might need a little improvement ere 
 he despatched the manuscript to London. 
 
 " The pathos of a weary dirge 
 
 Once was the melody I heard" 
 
 He murmured the lines dreamily. From above 
 him came the shuffling of feet, and he heard 
 Summerton crying a cheery " Good morning " to 
 his wife. Then the door was opened, and Frank 
 saw him swinging down the path. He closed his 
 eyes and slept the sleep of the weary. 
 
 It was late before he rose. His resolve had 
 grown, and was confirmed by his few hours' sleep. 
 During the late breakfast he kept a careful watch 
 over Lily's movements, and he came to the con- 
 clusion that she would accept his offer. She 
 appeared to avoid him a little, and yet was 
 thoroughly intimate. And again he found her 
 
 138
 
 One Day Nearer 
 
 regarding him with that strange look of interest 
 and questioning, which he had noticed only since 
 the reappearance of Jack Summerton. 
 
 A note arrived for him from the Atlantic House. 
 The carrier was his own steward boy, and he 
 opened it in some perturbation. He did not wish 
 to leave Ivy Cottage until his project had become 
 a realised fact. It was in Mr. Wrigley's well- 
 known handwriting, and ran : 
 
 " MY DEAR FRANK BENSON, 
 
 " My wife and daughter have just arrived, 
 and present their compliments to you. We hope 
 you will be with us soon. Mr. Pyne was a 
 passenger on the same boat, and your fellow- 
 journalist is having breakfast with us. He is 
 bound for Swakopmund, his second trip in the 
 Hans. Summerton intends sending him down to 
 see you this afternoon. I hope you will have an 
 enjoyable time. Regards. " R. W." 
 
 Frank sent the note upstairs to Mrs. Summerton, 
 and the good woman was instantly on the alert to 
 prepare for the great man's visit. During her 
 mother's able equipments, Lily appeared to him 
 in a new delight. She asked to see his manu- 
 scripts. For some months he had been working 
 in a desultory fashion at a new novel. He had 
 been compelled to shelve it owing to an enigma in 
 the working out of his plot. Now, as they sat 
 together in his room, he asked her opinion. She 
 turned over the sheets quickly. 
 
 " What is your chiefest difficulty ? " 
 
 " How to dispose of my heroine. The story 
 will work itself out some day, if I leave it alone."
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " Oh, but that seems idle philosophy. I see that 
 you are up to the eighth chapter, probably one- 
 fourth of the book. Are the other parts written in 
 skeleton ? " 
 
 " Only very roughly," replied Frank. " I have 
 given those chapters considerable attention, and 
 have even sketched up to the fourteenth. But 
 the story won't move. I shall have to wait for 
 inspiration." 
 
 " Aren't you wasting marketable material ? Why 
 commence to write until the plot is fully matured ? 
 You have told me several times that you will not 
 accept payment for your work on the Liberian 
 press. I know you are doing little else." 
 
 Benson laughed, but he was slightly jarred. 
 " I have told you many times, Miss Worldly- Wise, 
 that I came to Grand Bassa for a total change of 
 life. I have given up exhaustive mental efforts, 
 with the habits of attending clubs and giving 
 lectures." 
 
 " Every man ought to receive payment for his 
 labour," said Lily, with an air of firmness. " You 
 were able to maintain yourself in a large town on 
 your literary income, and you ought certainly to be 
 saving the surplus obtained from existence in a 
 country place." 
 
 " I have all I want, Lily. What does it matter 
 that my income has decreased in direct ratio with 
 my fewer needs ? This seems quite natural. I have 
 found more real happiness in Grand Bassa with a 
 fine leisure than I should have derived from the 
 most laborious exertions in England. Don't worry. 
 If the novel is not completed here, it shall be at 
 home in Manchester some day ! " 
 
 140
 
 One Day Nearer 
 
 Lily was silent for a few minutes. Finally she 
 asked, thoughtfully, " Do you think that modern 
 fiction may be looked upon as a good vehicle of 
 education ? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes. But I am afraid that it cannot 
 be trusted, taken on the whole. Many of our 
 novelists distort their facts. But there are several 
 sedate stylists among us who speak what they 
 deem to be the unvarnished truth. Believe me, 
 the present craze for sensationalism is the curse of 
 our literature." 
 
 Benson spoke emphatically. He always felt 
 aggrieved when the subject was approached. He 
 had met a great number of contemporary writers, 
 and he could not help but deem the majority of 
 them unworthy of their influence. 
 
 " But, Frank, you cannot seriously recommend 
 the old-fashioned, namby-pamby style of book ? 
 You know that it would not be tolerated to-day." 
 
 " I am not pleading in favour of the pseudo- 
 religious novel at all." He pointed to a heap of 
 magazines on his table. Lily had brought them 
 in during one of her excursions. " We have 
 outgrown the school you mention. But I dis- 
 tinctly deprecate the * impossible ' school of fiction. 
 It is a melancholy but true reality, that one may be 
 driven to madness by a too serious perusal of the 
 effusions from the pens of certain English men and 
 women who are professing to follow the traditions 
 of Shakespeare." 
 
 " But are people influenced to this extent by the 
 books they read ? " 
 
 " Unconsciously, most people are ; but the effect 
 is indubitable." 
 
 141
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " And do you blame the magazines ? " 
 
 " Only in a degree. Journalism has done much 
 to promote literature by increasing the public taste 
 for good reading, by frequent allusions to the 
 works of dead and living authors, and by criti- 
 cisms of books upon their publication. And since 
 the magazine press has grown into such popularity 
 with both educated and appreciative people, our 
 best novels have appeared in their pages." 
 
 " That is true," said the girl, with some show 
 of pleasure. "Zangwill, Barrie, Stevenson, Du 
 Maurier, and innumerable others have contributed 
 to the better periodicals of England and America. 
 But you have not shown the offence of the 
 magazines." 
 
 " Here lies the danger. You will readily under- 
 stand, however, that I do not admit any one of the 
 authors named to be other than self-respecting 
 artists. My remarks refer to the degenerate class 
 of novelists. A deleterious element has crept into 
 our current literature by means of the hurry of 
 journalism. Literature is essentially the writing 
 that lives that endures adown the centuries and 
 is undimmed in lustre by the passing of the years. 
 But journalism is necessarily ephemeral : it must 
 appeal to the passing hour, its success lies in the 
 secret of thrill. The demand for such sensational 
 literature is dangerous to the author who does not 
 respect his art. This is the reason I speak from 
 one standpoint only, my own why we have so few 
 writers upon whose portrayals of character we 
 may look with reliance. While money can be 
 made by the easy method of distortion and carica- 
 ture, an ordinary journalist-author will pander to 
 
 142
 
 One Day Nearer 
 
 his editor's wishes. His magic art is lost sight of, 
 and puppets tread his stage instead of men and 
 women, dull, empty, unsymbolical." 
 
 "Thank you, Frank," said Lily simply. She 
 gathered up her papers and turned towards the 
 door. 
 
 " I want you to go on with your novel. You 
 shall be one of England's true novelists," she 
 whispered, as she passed him by. 
 
 '43
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A PROPOSAL 
 " Because I love you " 
 
 A FTER she had gone Benson sat looking at his 
 manuscripts, and anon at the garden below. 
 The hedges were full of birds pigeons, bluejays, 
 sunbirds, hummers balancing themselves on the 
 twigs with soft interminable twitters. The trees 
 were flooded with light, and the fragrance of many 
 flowers was wafted upward to him. 
 
 " * Sermons in stones, books in the running 
 brooks,' " he murmured, and played with his pen 
 for a time. Nevertheless, he commenced to work 
 in earnest, and had written a dozen sheets when 
 Lily came to the door to announce that it was two 
 o'clock. " I suppose Mr. Pyne will be here in 
 time for tea, so I shall ask mother to have it served 
 a little later than usual. You will go on working 
 until I tell you that we are ready ? " 
 
 He felt greatly entertained at her effort to rule 
 his life for him, and laughed as he observed her 
 glancing over his manuscript. He liked her super- 
 intendence, and thought how pleasant it would be 
 to complete the novel before he left Liberia. 
 " I mean to finish it this year," he said. " You 
 have given me a new stimulus." 
 
 144
 
 A Proposal 
 
 " I am glad," she said, without ardour. But her 
 face was flushed and her eyes bright. 
 
 " You teach well, and your words have entered 
 deep. It is good for a man to work. But if I am 
 to succeed I must see my tutor working too." 
 
 " My tasks are so different from yours. How- 
 ever, you know that I am never very idle." 
 
 " Do you know, Lily, that I have done more 
 work in the last three hours than I had used to do 
 in twice that space of time in England ? And this 
 labour was sweet for your sake. You told me to 
 work, and I did so at your bidding." 
 
 Lily's eyes were covered with her long lashes, and 
 her cheeks were rosy. 
 
 "You overestimate my value," she said gently. 
 " I only told you what I deemed to be the truth : 
 that every man should earn more than he spends. 
 But why should you appreciate my teaching so 
 much?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to his for a moment, then 
 dropped them beneath the ardour of his gaze. 
 " Because I love you," he said. 
 There was silence again. He took her hand in 
 his, and tried to lift up her face. 
 
 u At first I worked because I was interested in 
 the negro problem and on account of your father's 
 friendship. Then I began to love you, and a great 
 tenderness came over me when I thought of the 
 burden of your race. * For Lily's sake ! ' I used 
 to say as I wrote to my publishers. I knew from 
 the first that I should have to make this declaration 
 to you at some distant date." 
 
 He put his arm around her, but the girl still 
 refused to meet his eyes. 
 K 145
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 "To give you pleasure has been my only hope 
 for many months. I want you, Lily. I want you 
 for my wife. Will you come to me ? " 
 
 Her eyes were raised then, and she placed her 
 arms around his neck as simply as would a child. 
 " I am in your hands, Frank. I always loved you." 
 
 He covered her face and hands with kisses, and 
 they looked at each other with glistening eyes. 
 
 " I will call you soon, Frank," she said, releasing 
 herself. " I may tell mother of my happiness ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear. You must not keep me waiting too 
 long." 
 
 Frank turned back to his work. He tried to con- 
 tinue the scene at which he had been occupied before 
 Lily's entrance. Somehow the words would not 
 flow. He sat there in a happy reverie until he 
 heard the clash of the garden gate. 
 
 It was Jack Summerton. Benson saw him enter 
 the house, and then there came drifting up to him 
 snatches of happy laughter. But no pang of 
 jealousy stirred him. Lily belonged to him now, 
 and he trusted her implicitly. 
 
 Half an hour later he saw the huge figure of 
 SutclifFe Pyne coming slowly down the road. He 
 smiled faintly as he noticed that the novelist carried 
 unmistakable signs of an increased salary. His 
 Colonel Kelly stories were more popular than ever. 
 Frank washed his hands, and prepared to descend 
 the stairs. 
 
 He greeted Jack Summerton as he passed through 
 the parlour, and the young negro followed him on 
 to the piazza. " Mr. Benson," he said frankly, " I 
 owe you an apology. Lily has just told me of her 
 engagement. At first I thought you were crying 
 
 146
 
 A Proposal 
 
 off, and that made me wild. Of course, I am dis- 
 appointed at Lil's decision, but I wish you every 
 happiness." 
 
 Frank responded warmly, and lingered with him 
 for a few minutes in talk. Pyne had reached 
 the gate, and he descended the steps to meet him. 
 Soon they were pacing up and down the grass-plot 
 at the back of the house. A happy smile was on 
 the younger man's face, and the popular novelist 
 looked at him curiously from time to time. 
 
 "What a pretty girl that was at the window!" he 
 said, with the air of a critic. Lily had looked out 
 as he passed through the garden, and now they 
 could hear her laughing softly with her cousin 
 indoors. Frank murmured his acquiescence, and 
 plucked a large jonquil, growing in one of the 
 boxes by the side of the path. 
 
 " You spend all your time here now, don't you, 
 Benson ? I met you in the same place during my 
 last trip." The big man looked quizzically at his 
 companion. " A decidedly pretty girl ! " he re- 
 peated. " But she is very young. That handsome 
 nigger appears to be rather gone on her. Her 
 cousin ? Oh ! I'm rather sorry for the lad, because 
 he seems to be head over ears in love. Does the 
 subject irritate you ? I know what a woman-hater 
 you are or have the reputation of being ! Now, 
 don't frown. With a suitable occasion and a con- 
 genial environment, I always find myself talking 
 of women with a man who professes complete 
 ignorance, but who has devoted all the years of 
 his life to a study of the subject." 
 
 Frank made a movement of indifference. 
 
 "Now, if I had been in your shoes," persisted 
 
 147
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 Pyne, " a resident in Bassa, I should have had 
 several idylls and pastorals out of the affair. The 
 heart of a woman is like one of Tom Smith's 
 crackers. It opens with a loud report, and shows 
 its elegant wrappings to have been only the cover- 
 ing of a sweet, a fool's-cap, and a riddle. The 
 fool dons the cap, and pauses to solve the 
 problem ; the wise man sucks the sweet. But 
 you don't often go in for that class of thing, do 
 you ? And, of course, when all is said and done, 
 she is a negress." 
 
 Benson flushed a little. " Yes," he said gravely, 
 " she is a negress." 
 
 " Remarkably pretty, none the less. Her eyes 
 are very fine, and she has quite English hair. Ton 
 my word, Benson, I shall make Bassa my home 
 after I have finished with the Congo and Swakop- 
 mund. Just think of these lovely creatures, with 
 delightfully civilised negroes around them, playing 
 at European culture, and making love in quite the 
 accepted style. I would give half my income for the 
 matter that you must have stored away in your desk." 
 
 " Be content with what you have," said Frank 
 drily. " Think of the sharks, and the fevers, and 
 the mutinies, with Colonel Kelly in their midst, 
 that you are picking up on the South-West Coast, 
 and leave me my pastorals." 
 
 "All the same, I shouldn't mind being the age 
 of that young fellow yonder." 
 
 " But you are not, so it is no use trying to make 
 headway with Miss Summerton. You should know 
 better at your time of life." He spoke in a joking 
 manner, but his voice was cold. " How is your 
 wife?" 
 
 148
 
 A Proposal 
 
 11 She died while I was away last trip. But I 
 hardly think I shall marry again. I tell you, 
 Benson, my boy, when a man has taken up a 
 hobby like mine, he cares little for home pleasures. 
 I like the coast girls best. Your sermons and 
 you look fit to give me one at the moment will 
 not change me. I shall be a lady's man to the end. 
 Become reconciled to that fact. I have had three 
 English wives, and all have been sweet but short- 
 lived creatures." 
 
 Frank was becoming restless. True, the man 
 who rarely relaxes his equanimity is a wearisome 
 companion, but he is to be preferred above the 
 man who makes a jest of everything. Laughter 
 was meant to relieve, not to obsess. 
 
 " Let us be serious, then," said Pyne, with a 
 laugh. " I'm quite interested in the little love 
 story over there. Are they engaged? No? I shall 
 try to help the lad after tea. Though he seems to 
 get along all right, and there cannot possibly be a 
 rival in a sleepy place like Grand Bassa." 
 
 " Maybe that is the reason why he is so merry," 
 observed Frank, as another peal of laughter came 
 to them from the house. " Why should he be in a 
 hurry if he is certain of success ? " 
 
 " Just so. I feel younger when I see love affairs 
 of this kind. They bring back to me memories of 
 my first marriage." 
 
 He talked sentiment for what appeared to be an 
 endless period, and Frank laughed inwardly at his 
 egotism. Still he felt the artless confidences of the 
 novelist to be flattering, and he listened to the 
 eulogies of his three deceased wives in silence. It 
 seemed almost incredible that this mountain of 
 
 149
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 sentimentality should be the creator of the brisk, 
 peppery little Colonel Kelly. At last he interrupted 
 mildly 
 
 " My dear Pyne, let us change the subject. It is 
 all very well for a man of your years and expe- 
 rience to spend the afternoon in retrospect. But I 
 have my youth with me, and the subject is rather 
 boring." 
 
 The novelist laughed gently. 
 
 " Oh, you young journalists ! There will come 
 a time when you will wish that you had listened to 
 me more attentively. You are missing excellent 
 copy, and when you have exhausted your own 
 practical knowledge of the subject upon which you 
 are writing, rest assured that you will have to draw 
 upon your memory of other men's opinions. Wait 
 until you fall in love yourself. Then you will 
 begin to understand. At present you are much 
 too young." 
 
 " Or too old, perhaps," suggested Frank. 
 
 "Perhaps you are. Precocious people are always 
 forty at twenty, and balanced in years about the age 
 of thirty or so. Yes, there is hope for you. You'll 
 be young enough soon." 
 
 Again Frank smiled. 
 
 " You must really let me know when you intend 
 to marry. I shall be delighted to give you the 
 benefit of my own experiences. Marriage was the 
 making of me." 
 
 " And it actually took three attempts ? " asked 
 Benson, with an excessive show of seriousness. 
 
 Pyne threw himself down on a garden-seat, and 
 looked at the younger man smilingly. "Yes, three 
 marriages and innumerable wooings." 
 
 150
 
 A Proposal 
 
 They saw a white frock among the trees, and a 
 moment later Lily cried, " Tea, gentlemen, please." 
 
 " She is a strange commingling of English man- 
 ners and negro bewitchments," said Frank, as they 
 turned towards the house. 
 
 " I am inclined to agree with you," replied Pyne. 
 " I shall enjoy my tea, I know. She is just charm- 
 ing." 
 
 Lily stood at the door in her white dress and 
 sash of crimson. She had a rose at her throat. 
 The two men ascended the piazza steps in silence. 
 Then Frank said 
 
 " Lily, I want to introduce you to Mr. Sutcliffe 
 Pyne, the novelist. Pyne, this is Miss Summerton, 
 my affianced wife." 
 
 The girl smiled prettily, and went indoors. The 
 big Englishman stood dumbfounded. 
 
 " You are going to marry her ? By Jove ! what 
 an item for the clubs ! Benson, you are a young 
 hypocrite." 
 
 He took the younger man affectionately by the 
 arm, and together they entered the room.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 A STARTLING EVENT 
 
 " Always there is a dark cloud over the summer sky " 
 
 windows were thrown open, and the breeze 
 stirred the white cloth upon the table. It was 
 an exquisite day, and the trees gleamed with white 
 and red blossoms. The flower-beds were in bud, 
 and the crumpled green leaves showed up brightly 
 against the soil. 
 
 Mrs. Summerton moved busily about the room. 
 She looked haggard and worn, but had persisted in 
 preparing the meal herself. Her pride in the great 
 guest was illimitable, and she gave him the seat of 
 honour at her right. 
 
 " I am beginning to understand why we don't see 
 your name in the reviews now, Benson," observed 
 Pyne. 
 
 Frank smiled as he took his serviette from its 
 ring. 
 
 "Why?" he asked. 
 
 " Because you have found this place too restful 
 for mental labour. And you have had so many 
 other distractions." He glanced at Lily. " Litera- 
 ture claims the whole of a man. If it can't have 
 that at the moment it will have nothing." 
 
 Frank inwardly wondered at his words. They 
 152
 
 A Startling Event 
 
 were so completely opposed to Pyne's expressions 
 in labour. 
 
 " What made you become a journalist ? " asked 
 Jack Summerton. He was sitting opposite to Lily 
 and next to the novelist. " I like your stories im- 
 mensely. But you have only been writing for 
 about five years, I believe, and you must have 
 followed some other profession before." 
 
 Pyne shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I suppose it was because I had learned the 
 knack of telling a story." 
 
 Lily looked across at him in some surprise. 
 
 " But don't you write because you want to help 
 the world ? " She remembered her conversation 
 with Frank that morning, and his declaration that 
 ephemeral literature was injurious. " Haven't you 
 any desire to live as an author ? Surely you have 
 an ambition ? " 
 
 "Dear me, no," he replied, sipping his tea 
 thoughtfully. " I only want to earn sufficient to 
 be comfortable, and to have the deference shown 
 me that is due on account of my magazine 
 fame." 
 
 " Have you no wish to be read by posterity, 
 then ? " asked Jack. 
 
 " I used to have when I was Benson's age. I 
 wrote verses then, and rhymed 'joy' with * annoy.' 
 But I never published them. My stories give 
 pleasure to the man in the street. That is all I 
 want." 
 
 " And don't you put yourself into your narra- 
 tives ? " persisted Lily. " I like your face, Mr. 
 Pyne, and I have known your name for a long 
 time. I have thought often as I read that you
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 were writing merely for the sake of your publisher's 
 cheque." 
 
 Pyne nodded his laughing consent. 
 
 " If you weren't such a charming young hostess, 
 Miss Summerton, I should certainly take offence. 
 But I suppose I sometimes strike a deeper note in 
 my books. I ought really to move my readers 
 occasionally, even when my mood has been an in- 
 different one at the moment of writing the passage." 
 
 Frank took his cup from Mrs. Summerton be- 
 fore he differed. 
 
 " Such a thing is not possible, Pyne," he said, 
 with emphasis. "An author can never, under 
 any circumstances, write more than he is himself 
 mentally and spiritually." 
 
 " But don't you think it reasonable to believe 
 that a man may be inspired with false sentiment 
 a temporary appearance of earnestness ? " he re- 
 torted. 
 
 " No. If a poet or author would write purely, 
 he must live purely. If his name is to endure, he 
 must be strenuous, earnest, sympathetic. He is 
 his own secretary, and literally writes himself into 
 his books. And he can never put into them more 
 than he is and was." 
 
 Mrs. Summerton was listening with interest, but 
 she felt the conversation to be outside her sphere. 
 
 " A great book must be written by a great man, 
 then ? " asked Lily. She put her hand into Frank's, 
 as she asked the question, behind her chair. 
 
 "Yes. If the writer is a great personality, 
 strong and staunch in purpose, sincere in feeling, 
 open to the noblest inspirations, an indefinable 
 something creeps into his sentences, giving them a
 
 A Startling Event 
 
 vital influence for good. This living power is so 
 great that every reader senses it. And a sym- 
 pathetic student detects the false ring of a pretender 
 immediately the first few pages are perused." 
 
 Pyne shook his head. 
 
 " You infer with the modern schools that there 
 is more beneath the surface than there can be in 
 the written lines ? " 
 
 " I do. It is the spirit of the author that 
 engenders this force. The touch of genius, and 
 that alone, lifts a book into the realms of true 
 literature, makes it the one permanently successful 
 volume out of a hundred published at the same 
 time." 
 
 "Are there many authors living who come under 
 your category, Benson ?" asked the elder journalist 
 a little cynically. " I suppose they all repose be- 
 neath the wing of The Academy ? " 
 
 " It would be invidious to mention names. But 
 the type of man to whom my words apply is he 
 who writes, not with the thought of material 
 advancement, not with the desire of being famous, 
 but with the sole idea of reaching the hearts and 
 minds of the people, giving them something of 
 value something that will uplift them and beautify 
 their lives." 
 
 Pyne tapped his knife on the table gently. " It 
 often happens that the richer a man becomes the 
 less he is worth," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Summerton ventured a remark. " Isn't 
 that departing from the beaten track, Frank ? Lily 
 has read me several articles about the immense 
 incomes of popular authors." 
 
 " It is the only way to immortality in art. He
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 who fears to wander in strange ways, and who 
 allows arbitrary rules to bind him, limits his powers 
 of creation. The freer the method, the freer the 
 work. The old order changeth, giving place to new ! 
 Of no use to progress is the man who copies 
 other minds, and idly does as was done before." 
 
 He looked at Lily. Her face was turned to- 
 wards the window, and he could just see the 
 profile of her face against the dense background of 
 the trees. 
 
 " Shakespeare borrowed his plots, didn't he, 
 Frank ? Was he not then indebted to other 
 minds ? " She asked the question swiftly, and 
 turned her sparkling eyes upon him. 
 
 "True. But Shakespeare is admittedly more 
 original than the men from whom he took his 
 conceptions. Before he handled them they were 
 as dead bodies. Immediately he breathed on them 
 with the magic of his genius they became sentient 
 beings." 
 
 Mrs. Summerton rose and took up the milk-jug. 
 " I'll go and get some more fresh milk from the 
 cow-house," she said. Benson could not help 
 observing that she looked bent and old as he fol- 
 lowed her receding figure with his eyes. He turned 
 to Pyne again. 
 
 " You are successful," he said. " And I don't 
 suppose that I shall ever have your income and 
 popularity. But I had rather be the humble voice 
 of one of God's individuals as it is every man's 
 privilege to be than the prosperous slave of any 
 magazine -editor. Give me liberty to follow 
 my profession in my own way, and I will reach the 
 hearts of the people." 
 
 156
 
 A Startling Event 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, all this is esprit de jeu. 
 Don't you think you could accomplish this mission 
 of yours under the guidance of an editor who 
 understands what the public most care for ? " 
 
 " Hardly. The magazine press is improving 
 rapidly, but it does not necessarily follow that 
 what is most popular in the cheaper monthly papers 
 is true literature. I will keep a free course 
 throughout, publishing my thoughts without any 
 serial issue, and unhampered by the desire for a 
 wide notoriety." 
 
 Still Pyne shook his head despondingly. 
 
 "I mustn't forget that you have written a couple 
 of books which pleased the critics. And I daresay 
 the better-class reviews had more to say about your 
 forty thousand words than they have had over all 
 my four hundred thousand. But, all the same, I 
 wouldn't exchange sales with you. I am far more 
 prosperous, and my work is less arduous, I'll be 
 bound." 
 
 Benson was silent for a moment. 
 
 " I want to give to the world messages that will 
 lighten the everyday struggles of life. My voice 
 is weak, but it may reach the masses faintly from 
 time to time. I desire most that my words should 
 remove the gloom here, or add a little sweetness 
 there ; that they may give thought to the thought- 
 less, love to the loveless, and, above all, hope to 
 the hopeless ones." 
 
 Lily pressed his hand. 
 
 " You don't want to be one of the * He said ' or 
 * They tell me ' class of writers, Mr. Benson ? " 
 laughed Jack. 
 
 "No; above all I wish to retain my individu-
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 ality. It is the greatest agent of power, and 
 has rid the world of countless follies and con- 
 ventionalities. The eccentric thinker is the salt 
 of the earth." 
 
 " What do you call eccentricity ? " asked Lily 
 demurely. 
 
 " Individuality is eccentricity purified. The 
 goal of true eccentricity is to think as you please 
 and to defy social hypocrisies. The only danger to 
 the peace of mind of the community lies in the 
 character of the eccentric one. A really strong- 
 minded person owns the control of God and 
 acknowledges the claims of Reason such an one 
 is a genius. The weak-minded person recognises 
 only the claims of self such an one is a fool." 
 
 Pyne took up another scone. " I like your 
 definition," he said. " For who could mistake 
 Hunt for Carlyle, or Wilkie Collins for Dickens ? 
 It must be that only by means of a preserved 
 individuality can a man become a master of his 
 profession." 
 
 " It is the strong - minded people who have 
 brought about our present improved social condi- 
 tions," said Frank. 
 
 " I wonder, Mr. Pyne," said Lily, with a demure 
 look, " whether your limited leisure permits you 
 sufficient time to read your own books. Three 
 you write each year, don't you ? " 
 
 The novelist did not laugh. " Read them ? 
 Dear me, no, Miss Summerton, the public do the 
 reading. I only have to write." 
 
 Frank's eyes twinkled. Anon he started. " Lily, 
 where can your mother be ? She has been gone 
 quite ten minutes." 
 
 158
 
 A Startling Event 
 
 Lily rose from the table and went out into the 
 garden. The three men saw her white frock dis- 
 appear round the corner-path that led to the back 
 of the house. They talked in a leisurely fashion 
 about the beauty of the day. In his mind Frank 
 followed the girl to the outlying houses, where the 
 cattle were kept, and imagined her talking to Mrs. 
 Summerton. The mother had sat down to rest for 
 a few minutes. Then he imagined her coming down 
 the path, with the broken form of the invalid leaning 
 on her arm. He rose, and walked to the window. 
 " Lily o' the Fields," he murmured proudly. 
 
 And then he heard the patter of feet on the path. 
 The girl was returning alone, and in haste. A 
 moment later her white-robed form appeared at the 
 foot of the piazza stairs. Her sash was trailing on 
 the ground. She looked up at him mutely. Her 
 face was terribly pale; and she tried to lift her feet 
 to ascend. They refused to move. She trembled 
 violently. 
 
 He dashed down the steps, and the other men 
 followed in alarm. " What is the matter ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Her dry lips trembled, and she whispered, 
 " Mother there." Then she swayed uncertainly, 
 and fell fainting into his arms. 
 
 " Go," he said hurriedly to Jack. " See what 
 has happened. And you too, Pyne. I will carry 
 Miss Summerton into the house." 
 
 A few minutes after Lily had opened her eyes 
 they carried the form of Mrs. Summerton tenderly 
 up the stairs. She was not dead, but it was obvious 
 that the end was not far off. Her heart had given 
 way at last.
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 They placed her carefully on the sofa, and Lily 
 bathed her temples. She opened her eyes. "Is 
 that you, child ? Tell Frank I want him." 
 
 She lifted her head with a great effort, and 
 looked round the room. Frank placed his hand 
 in hers. 
 
 " Be good to Lily," she said. " Say to Joe how 
 sorry I am that I couldn't wait to bid him good- 
 bye. . . . Lily, Lily, kiss me, I cannot see you." 
 
 She lay breathing hard for a few minutes, while 
 beads of perspiration stood on her forehead. Then 
 her lips moved slowly, and she whispered in gasps, 
 "I am so glad your happiness is assured, Lily. 
 Good-bye, little one. Don't forget me. God 
 is very good." 
 
 A great and holy calm seemed to steal over her 
 face. Her head fell softly back. A long sigh came 
 from her lips. Then gradually a solemn rigidity 
 fell across her features. The pain vanished, and 
 in its place came that look of awful grandeur and 
 inscrutable knowledge which is given to Death 
 alone. Lily wept softly as she kissed the silent 
 lips, and Pyne and Jack Summerton crept quietly 
 away. The dusk fell imperceptibly, and the mists 
 crept in from the shore. 
 
 160
 
 " Do naught to others which, if done to thee, would cause thee 
 pain : this is the sum of duty " 
 
 t^RANK had a whispered talk with the novelist 
 ere he entered the road. " I rely upon your 
 tact," he said. " Mr. Summerton will be greatly 
 upset." 
 
 "Trust me," replied Pyne. He had a good 
 heart, and deeply sympathised with Lily and her 
 father in their sudden bereavement. "The steamer 
 will be sailing to-night ; but I will do my best. 
 Good-bye for the present, Benson." 
 
 It was quite dark when the old trader reached 
 home. After the first shock of grief he carried 
 himself with fortitude the stoicism which is an 
 unalienable attribute of the negro. "We shall 
 meet again," he said calmly. He had felt a genuine 
 and reverent love for his wife, deepened by her 
 care of him and their child, and by her unwearied 
 attention to her household duties. But he accepted 
 the fact of her death as an inevitable decree of the 
 Almighty. He performed the gloomy tasks which 
 her death enjoined in silence. 
 
 Frank sat with him for a long time after Lily 
 had retired to her room. The young man spoke 
 L 161
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 quietly about his engagement. " Lily has promised 
 to marry me, and I want you to give your 
 consent." 
 
 "She told me of this a long time ago, poor 
 Mary ! " he replied. " Trust a woman for reading 
 between the lines. I could never believe it myself 
 because of the difference in your nations and 
 births." He flushed proudly. " Lily has some 
 of the best blood of Africa in her veins. She is 
 worthy of you, Frank. I am very glad." 
 
 " It was only a few weeks ago that I made up 
 my mind. But I loved Lily from the first time 
 I saw her." 
 
 " Be gentle with her, lad. That is all I ask. 
 She is a sweet little girl, and sensitive in the 
 extreme. Give me your hand upon it." 
 
 Frank grasped the proffered palm warmly. " I 
 shall be a good husband to her, so help me, God ! " 
 he said. 
 
 The news spread rapidly, and at the funeral he 
 was widely complimented. The climate of any 
 part of the West African continent will not permit 
 of protracted periods of mourning, and the burial 
 took place at four o'clock in the afternoon of the 
 day following Mrs. Summerton's death. Every 
 business house in Bassa had sent its representative, 
 and the dead woman's merits were discussed over 
 tea, and wheaten cakes, and cigars. Frank felt the 
 congratulations that met him to be fulsome. The 
 demeanour of the Liberians present was familiarly 
 patronising, as though they were conferring a favour 
 upon him by showing their approval. 
 
 The party broke up about eight o'clock, and 
 Summerton fastened the door with a sigh of relief. 
 
 162
 
 A New Responsibility 
 
 Lily sat wearily at the table, her eyes red with 
 crying. 
 
 " Lily," said Frank, " you are not well. Come 
 to the organ-room for an hour. It will cheer you 
 up." 
 
 " Do," said Summerton, with a faint smile. " I 
 will sit up a while and smoke." 
 
 All the windows of the house had been closed 
 since the previous night. Benson opened the 
 casement of the little dark room upstairs, and the 
 moon splashed the floor with streaks of misty 
 white. The air was moist, and he looked down 
 upon the white face which gleamed faintly at the 
 organ. " We won't have a lamp," he said. 
 
 " No," she answered, touching the keys softly. 
 " Poor mother ! " Then she grew silent as the 
 melodies swelled out into rich cadences, and Frank 
 sat quietly by her side. 
 
 They did not sing. Lily's voice would have 
 broken ; but they felt happier as they descended 
 the stairs after a long absence. At the door of 
 the parlour they kissed each other like children. 
 
 " Well, Lily, girl, suppose you go to bed ? 
 I am sure you ought to be happy. It was mother's 
 wish. Frank, let me have a word with you. 
 Wrigley wants you back at the factory, and I 
 should like to talk matters over." 
 
 Lily went slowly upstairs to her room, and the 
 two men were left alone. Before they parted for 
 the night it was arranged that after the marriage 
 Lily should live at the Atlantic House until Frank's 
 future was decided upon. Summerton himself 
 would go to his brother's family. Meantime 
 Benson should follow his ordinary duties with the 
 
 163
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 agent until the date of the ceremony, and the negro 
 urged that there should be as little delay as possible. 
 " I am a lonely old man now, and the sooner I 
 dispose of the house the better." 
 
 Frank was not surprised to see a letter from 
 his agent on the plate next morning. A native 
 boy had brought it late on the previous night, after 
 the closing of the doors, and was now waiting for 
 an answer. It ran : 
 
 " DEAR BENSON, 
 
 " We were greatly shocked on Tuesday to 
 receive the news of Mrs. Summerton's death, and 
 straightway expressed our sympathy to your host. 
 But he seemed to bear it well, and the tidings of 
 your engagement to Miss Lily will remove from 
 him the responsibility which would otherwise have 
 devolved upon him. Your friend Mr. Pyne told 
 us all about it, and Mrs. Wrigley is delighted. 
 Am glad to say that both she and Maggie are 
 comfortably instated, and my daughter seems 
 more pleased with the place than I had dared 
 to hope. 
 
 "Your room is prepared for you, and I shall 
 be pleased to have you back this week. There 
 is nothing much stirring in the way of trade at the 
 moment. Whatever arrangements you may have 
 made regarding your marriage shall have our 
 support, and if it is necessary for your wife to 
 live here, I can assure you that she will be made 
 welcome by my wife and daughter. 
 
 "And that reminds me of a perplexing affair. 
 Twice since the departure for England of Clayton 
 has Samie of Veytown been here. She expected 
 
 164
 
 A New Responsibility 
 
 him to return on the last steamer, basing her 
 hopes, I suppose, upon some vague promise of the 
 young devil's. I have had distressing scenes with 
 her. I hear from Manchester that he is to go to 
 Since as soon as his accounts are squared up. 
 I am almost sorry now that I glossed over his 
 affairs. The poor girl seems almost desperate. 
 However, I shall rely upon your tact. Do your 
 best to patch up the matter when you are at 
 home again at the factory I mean, for that is 
 home to me now. 
 
 " My family send their greetings. I hope to 
 
 see you soon. {t v 
 
 J * Yours, etc., 
 
 R. W." 
 
 As Frank rose from the table Lily came into the 
 room from the garden. He determined to speak 
 about their marriage at once. " I want it to be 
 arranged immediately," he said. 
 
 The girl had her hands full of blooms. She 
 placed one in his buttonhole before she answered. 
 "That would not be just, Frank. We must re- 
 member mother. Let us wait a few months." 
 
 " The longer you remain alone with your father, 
 Lily, the more will he feel his grief. I am return- 
 ing to the Atlantic House to-day, and there is 
 another young lady there, remember." 
 
 "That is not a nice thing to say, Frank," she 
 said. But she looked at him quite trustfully. " I 
 will leave the matter entirely in your hands." 
 
 " Seven weeks hence be it then ! " exclaimed 
 Frank. 
 
 "As you wish," she said, and kissed him gently. 
 
 Benson observed the new tenderness in her 
 165
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 bearing. That she loved him fervently there 
 could be no doubt. Her eyes were full of 
 infinite confidence when she looked at him. 
 
 He was very busy all day. He determined to 
 finish the section of the story at which he had 
 been working under the stimulus of Lily's interest. 
 Summerton returned early from the farm, which 
 required little attention now, and Frank busily 
 arranged his papers and books preparatory to 
 placing them in his boxes. 
 
 " I suppose you'll take Lily away somewhere 
 for the honeymoon ? " the trader asked. Frank 
 finished tying his parcel before he looked up. 
 Lily was sitting at the window sewing, and the 
 expression upon her face was entirely uncom- 
 promising. He answered hesitatingly, " I don't 
 think so." 
 
 " But it will shortly be the slackest season of the 
 year, and Wrigley can easily spare you. You will 
 have to go somewhere. It is the usual thing. 
 What do you say to Axim or Lagos ? Or you 
 might try Sierra Leone." 
 
 Benson laughed at the sheer absurdity of the 
 suggestion. " God save us from Sierra Leone ! " 
 he murmured. Then he went over to Lily. 
 
 " Would you like to go away ? " he asked. 
 " Generally a honeymoon is an excursion from 
 the town to a country or seaside place. But we 
 need not bring that argument to bear upon our 
 marriage. Grand Bassa is surely secluded enough." 
 
 "Then let us reverse the order. Take me to 
 England." 
 
 A bright light shone in her eyes, and a little 
 colour had sprung into her cheeks. " I want to 
 
 166
 
 A New Responsibility 
 
 see your home, and the great newspaper offices. 
 And I want to look at busy London the Strand, 
 Fleet Street, Hyde Park. Then there are the 
 theatres and the music-halls, the assembly rooms 
 and the great concerts. Take me to England, 
 Frank." 
 
 For a moment he faltered. He had been in 
 Grand Bassa over a year, and the place was a 
 veritable haven of rest. Would the old passion 
 for noise and clamour come over him if he 
 returned ? And were he to feel suddenly that 
 existence could only be tolerated in town, would 
 Lily be able to share his social duties ? His 
 sweetheart's eyes were pleading. 
 
 " England be it then," he said gravely. 
 
 Summerton could not conceal his gratification. 
 
 " For as many years as that little girl can 
 remember she has longed to see England. Now 
 she has obtained her desire. You are a lucky 
 mortal, Lil." 
 
 During the whole of the afternoon the pretty 
 Liberian girl talked of nothing but the proposed 
 visit to Europe. It was marvellous to mark the 
 extent of knowledge which her conversation demon- 
 strated of town life. Her information concerning 
 metropolitan matters was diffusive. Not infre- 
 quently it was incorrect, and some of her theories 
 were quite wrong. None the less, however, 
 was her ripple of talk remarkable. From the 
 Sketch, the Tatler, and other society papers she 
 had learned much of every author and actor 
 of note, and she possessed an adequate conception 
 of the presence of each. A subtle sympathy 
 had placed her in touch with many of them, 
 
 167
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 and her guesses at their characters were generally 
 positive. 
 
 Frank listened in some distrust. He could not 
 look forward to the journey with any degree of 
 pleasure. True, it would be an emotional delight, 
 such as he would not have sacrificed for untold 
 wealth, to hold his mother in his arms again and 
 to see his father's cheery face. None the less did 
 he feel that ill would come of the journey. 
 
 But Lily's enthusiasm was contagious, and he 
 sat down to write to his parents a short letter 
 announcing his engagement. He left sufficient 
 space for a postscript, this being for the news of 
 his return : but he knew that the words might 
 have been written now with confidence and ease. 
 It was not probable that Mr. Wrigley would 
 oppose his wishes after his unbroken term of 
 service. He threw the letter towards her with 
 a laugh. She read it, and handed the envelope 
 back thoughtfully. 
 
 " How is the novel ? " she asked. 
 
 " Progressing very slowly. This morning I did 
 not get on as well as I could have wished. I will 
 lay aside the pen until we return to Liberia. It 
 is not advisable to force production." 
 
 " But you must not forget it altogether, Frank. 
 Do you remember once showing me a manuscript 
 that had not been finished, and I found it to be 
 dated for over three years before ? " 
 
 He tried to prove to her that he was right in 
 leaving unripe fruit on the bough ; but she only 
 laughed at him. 
 
 " The sunshine will ripen it," she said, " in 
 the market-gardener's basket." 
 
 1 68
 
 A New Responsibility 
 
 When he parted from her at the gate he felt 
 instinctively that his arguments had not convinced 
 her. 
 
 " Until the wedding-day ! " he cried. 
 
 For reply she wafted him a kiss from her finger- 
 tips. 
 
 169
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 OVER THE SEAS 
 
 " The fool who knows his foolishness is wise so far, at least ; 
 but the fool who thinks himself wise is a fool indeed " 
 
 "THE ATLANTIC HOUSE, GRAND BASSA, 
 
 " J u h Z 6tt>, 19 (Independence Day). 
 
 " MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, 
 
 " I am indeed afraid that I shall have to 
 plead guilty to the charge of neglect. Your last 
 mails are dated early April three months ago and 
 I have only scribbled you a few hasty words in 
 acknowledgment. No doubt my last epistle, de- 
 claring my sudden resolve of marrying, will have 
 startled you a little, but Miss Summerton's name 
 has been mentioned so often in my letters that you 
 must have seen how events were likely to shape 
 themselves. More anon. 
 
 " Tell my friends that they need never apologise 
 for the brevity of their manuscripts. It is sufficient 
 for me to recognise the handwriting of those dear 
 to me. Any letter from England, no matter how 
 short, comes to me like a breath of the open fields 
 in spring, and carries with it the odour of a 
 thousand happy memories. 
 
 "To-day is a holiday in all Liberia, being the 
 anniversary of the Negroes' Declaration of Inde- 
 
 170
 
 Over the Seas 
 
 pendence in 1847. The factory is closed, and not a 
 sound breaks the silence. There is something so 
 sleepy in the languid atmosphere of the place that 
 I may have to make a dozen pecks at this cherry : 
 but I really mean to atone for my long term of 
 carelessness by inditing to you a letter of satisfying 
 volume. 
 
 " Well, in the first place, you may continue the 
 announcement of my forthcoming marriage with all 
 due pomp and ceremony. You may also inform in- 
 quirers that my fiancee is a Liberian girl of nineteen, 
 educated, refined, and far too good for me. And 
 yourselves need not be hasty in your condemna- 
 tion of my choice, for I was at some pains to 
 artfully enclose Lily's photograph in my last ac- 
 knowledged communication, without any remark ; 
 and mother writes : * Who is the pretty girl whose 
 photo you have sent us ? We were not aware that 
 there lived any European ladies in Grand Bassa.' 
 So that the case is settled at an early stage and in 
 my favour, you see. I have often spoken of Lily, 
 and you have both recognised those qualities which 
 endear her to me. Within a period of three 
 months I hope to present her to you in Man- 
 chester. The wedding takes place five weeks from 
 now. 
 
 " I find from a paragraph in the Looker On that 
 my retreat has at last been discovered. I shall 
 straightway renew my connection with the English 
 press. It happened in this way : we were garden- 
 ing Lily and I (you don't know how rustic I have 
 become since I came to Liberia) a few months 
 ago, when the mighty Sutcliffe Pyne dropped down 
 suddenly upon us. He caught my eye in passing, 
 
 171
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 and I am sure he was as much surprised at the meet- 
 ing as myself. I vowed him to secrecy, but he has 
 the reputation of being a walking newspaper for 
 the circulation of literary gossip ; so here I stand 
 confessed. The result has been that I am inun- 
 dated with requests for essays and what-not upon 
 the local fetish and customs. Leisure seems to be 
 very far away indeed. Harmley has forced a 
 twelve months' commission upon me, and I look 
 forward to the work with a strange admixture of 
 pleasure and dread. 
 
 " Oh, this English language of ours ! What a 
 subtle instrument it is ! In the hands of a master, 
 how grand, how sublime, how pithily adequate ! 
 But a poor scribe like me is apt to be perplexed. 
 A well-made sentence should be so flexible that the 
 removal of one syllable would mar its effect. 
 
 " Glad to hear of the new slippers for father 
 made from the otter-skin sent by my boy. The 
 leopards were not so good, and I was far from 
 satisfied when I despatched them. But I am 
 making atonement now. There is a magnificent 
 specimen on the way to you, and I shall tell you 
 how we secured it. You must know, first of all, 
 that trade is dull about this time of the year, and 
 we frequently close the stores at an earlier hour. 
 Old Mr. Summerton I only wish I may be as 
 lithe and brisk at sixty myself! often comes 
 down, and we all take our rifles and sally forth into 
 the bush. It was about the middle of the after- 
 noon of Saturday that we came upon a cave, well 
 behind the little native town of Belly Bon. We 
 had been warned that leopards were there ; but 
 were inclined to laugh at the story. When we 
 
 172
 
 Over the Seas 
 
 reached the mouth of the den we saw at once that 
 it was occupied by two cubs. I was in ecstasies, 
 and anxious to secure one for training. Mr. 
 Wrigley was almost as enthusiastic as myself, and 
 most busily occupied with his preparations. 
 
 " It was suggested that if the father or mother 
 returned we would be in a rather rough fix. How- 
 ever rather unwisely we all three entered and 
 made safe the little leopards. They were soft- 
 skinned and large-eyed creatures, beautiful and full 
 of play. Suddenly, amidst our hilarity, a shadow 
 darkened the door of the cave. We all turned in- 
 stinctively, for the place was now very gloomy. It 
 was the father. His eyes glowed like balls of fire 
 in the darkness, seeming to increase in size as he 
 advanced. We had been compelled to stoop as we 
 entered the cave, and this fact alone saved the life 
 of one or more of us. Owing to the lowness of 
 the roof the leopard could not spring. It was too 
 dark to take aim properly, but we all three cocked 
 our guns and waited. The shots rang out almost 
 simultaneously, and in the smoke which ensued we 
 clasped hands and stood in breathless suspense. 
 
 " We were not attacked, so it was evident that 
 the brute had been either mortally wounded or was 
 dead. With a sigh of thankfulness we stooped 
 down. We had to push our victim before us from 
 the den before we could get out. The skin was 
 put to ballot, and I had the honour of receiving it. 
 One of the cubs escaped into the bush, and the 
 other has been relegated to Summerton. 
 
 " The organ arrived safely, and I anticipate a 
 happy time when Lily makes this place her home. 
 She is a superb player, and her voice thrills me. 
 
 173
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 Last night a number of Mr. Wrigley's friends 
 visited us from the Boulama y homeward bound. 
 They were from Lagos and the Gold Coast. One 
 of the elder men had a magnificent voice, and he 
 sang * Ora Pro Nobis.' I was stirred to the inward 
 depths of my being, and envied him his valuable 
 gift. The singer enjoys the applause which is his 
 due at the moment of exerting his power. The 
 glistening eyes and trembling lips of his hearers 
 testify to his genius. But the poet and the author 
 never realise the influence of their voices in this 
 way. They may have to wait for many years for 
 their applause. 
 
 " I have had to leave my desk to look out of the 
 window. The Liberians are very patriotic, and 
 flags are flying now from every roof, and even from 
 the trees. A number of black-faced friends are 
 clamouring in the yard, and Mr. Wrigley is haran- 
 guing them from the piazza. This is one of the 
 results of being popular. You see, since the arrival 
 of Mrs. Wrigley and her daughter there has been 
 quite a revival in the town. The ladies hold very 
 democratic notions, and my engagement to Miss 
 Summerton further enhances the friendly relations 
 between our house and the Liberians. I am only 
 hoping that they will leave my name alone. One 
 of my lectures you know them, hop, skip, and a 
 jump, a scrap of verse here, quotation from Ruskin 
 there would be rather inappropriate to an occasion 
 like the present one. Though, after all, I am not 
 afraid that the Grand Bassa citizens would criticise 
 too austerely. 
 
 " Evening. It really did happen. I have been 
 talking for nearly an hour, and the people were 
 
 174
 
 Over the Seas 
 
 most enthusiastic. After they had called for three 
 cheers for Mr. Wrigley and the firm they gave me 
 a hearty trio. Then there came three for the 
 Liberian press, and another three for the only 
 white man connected with it not beyond the boun- 
 daries of the Republic that's me. Not content 
 with all these, there was another prolonged cheer 
 for the sweetest girl in Bassa that's Lily. The 
 kruboys and Vey boys were strongly in evidence as 
 background to their more educated brothers, and 
 we all had a very happy time. l The meeting dis- 
 persed at last, after the singing of the National 
 Anthem ' a la the Grand Bassa Mail, non-existent ! 
 
 " Coffee, the head steward-boy, asks me whether 
 we can eclipse such a display of vigour in Man- 
 chester. What do you say ? 
 
 "And that sets me thinking where the native 
 boys get their names from. When I first arrived 
 in Bassa I was considerably startled to find that the 
 names of the kruboys who rowed me ashore were 
 respectively Jim Doe, Pea Soup, Bow Wow, Wet 
 One, Bottled Beer, Two Cents (I call him Penny 
 for short), Wattler, and Watercress. They all have 
 country cognomens, but these are dropped immedi- 
 ately they touch white culture. I should say that, 
 when fresh from the bush, they hear a word or 
 combination of words which pleases their critical 
 taste, and immediately adopt it, oblivious of the 
 meaning. The result is often alarming. One be- 
 comes hardened after a few months, but sometimes, 
 even now, I can scarcely suppress my amusement. 
 
 " * Ki ' is the name of my valet, and this word in 
 the native diction means c small fish.' Thinking 
 therefore that sprat is a suitable * small fish,' he
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 called himself by that name. He invariably gets 
 Ki from me, though, as I cannot reconcile myself 
 to the lines which are always suggested to my mind 
 by the other name 
 
 'Jack Sprat could eat no fat, 
 His wife could eat no lean. 1 
 
 " Coffee is a big personage in the house, and he 
 obtained his name in this way. Six boys were 
 engaged at one time for the table, and as they had 
 all just come from the bush term equivalent to 
 our 'fresh from the country' they had no English 
 titles. A conclave was therefore held, and they each 
 selected the name of a beverage, becoming Coffee, 
 Tea, Cocoa, Whisky, Rum, and Gin. One of a 
 speculative turn of mind might inquire where the 
 following names came from (perhaps the irrepres- 
 sible Pyne has been at work, as it is only since his 
 visits that I have encountered these cognomens ; for 
 myself, I disclaim all responsibility) : King Alfred 
 the Great, Rudyard Kipling, The People's Laureate, 
 The Owl. Just imagine a grimy little negro, attired 
 only in his innocence and a foot of cloth, presenting 
 himself before you with the remark, * Massa, I 
 want for be stew'-boy. Ma name be de Owl.' I 
 hope the Athenxum will one day see this it may 
 be esteemed a compliment. 
 
 " I like the natives immensely, and I think the 
 feeling is reciprocated. If you treat them well, 
 they become greatly attached to you, and would 
 die in your service. Some of them are highly 
 intelligent, but they generally show the greatest 
 aversion from * saveeing book-palaver.' 
 
 " Am I prolix ? But I threatened you with 
 176
 
 Over the Seas 
 
 a long letter, and my pen seems exuberant to- 
 night. 
 
 " The * boys ' are very superstitious fa va sans 
 dire. By the last steamer, and accompanying the 
 leopard skin, I sent you a juju stick. This was 
 presented to me as a special mark of esteem 
 by a local witch-doctor. So potent, however, is 
 it supposed to be that, during its temporary 
 residence here, I had to vacate my room. None 
 of the employees would dare touch the place until 
 after it had been removed to the steamer. Be 
 particularly careful that it doesn't bite. All the 
 Veys carry a charm, sold to them by their priests, 
 and they reverence these little bundles with un- 
 limited zeal. It is firmly believed that they will 
 save the wearer from death by accident, and that 
 he is safe from all harm, both physical and spiritual, 
 while carrying the talisman. Curious to see what 
 they actually contained, Clayton once opened a 
 houseboy's arm-bag while he slept. He found 
 only a small bundle of dirty rags, a piece of rusty 
 iron, and a black powder. But so enraged was the 
 lad at the liberty taken with his private juju that 
 my fellow-citizen had to avoid him for many days. 
 (It was little acts of this kind that made Clayton 
 so unpopular. Mr. Wrigley informs me that the 
 firm are sending him to Since. I hope he has not 
 called upon you.) 
 
 "What a curious thing this idolatry is! And yet 
 it is natural after all. Fear would seem to be the 
 great motive which inclined humankind to religion : 
 love being at the opposite pole. All men bar- 
 barians and epicureans alike want a juju of some 
 kind, something to kiss and caress, and throw 
 M 177
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 themselves down before in abject worship. Our 
 Omar Khayyam Club is as much an evidence of 
 this interest in instinct as are the bush societies of 
 West Africa. If the idols aren't made of stone or 
 wood, man will have them manufactured of words. 
 The two opposite cultures are the same in essence. 
 Both Englishman and African are answering the 
 inward voice that cries aloud for something higher, 
 nobler, superior. Religion is as much a part of our 
 nature as is the love of beauty. To see a man subject 
 himself honestly to a God no matter whether He 
 be the Eternal Spirit of the Universe or a hand- 
 made or mind-made idol of Beauty Embodied 
 lifts one to the gates of heaven. I have watched 
 the natives perform their uncultivated adorations, 
 and my heart has yearned because of their igno- 
 rances. But none the less has my mind been rilled 
 with purer thoughts, and my soul with nobler 
 ideals. 
 
 "The dusk is upon me in all its coolness and 
 amplitude. I shall not ask for my lamp yet awhile. 
 The gloaming is too precious. A few minutes 
 hence I shall have fastened up my envelope, and 
 will be watching the sea as she robes herself for 
 the night. Dispense my love, my regards to all 
 dear friends. Tell them of my new-found happi- 
 ness. In the name of Lily I greet you both. 
 
 "FRANK." 
 
 178
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 VIE DE BOHEME 
 
 " Something new, whatever it may be " 
 
 S. RALPH KENNEY WRIGLEY was a 
 lady of decidedly democratic opinions. She 
 was the daughter of a great socialist, who had 
 signalised his career by supporting every move- 
 ment that promised to benefit the working classes. 
 After the girl had left school she listened to her 
 father's lectures upon the emancipation of the 
 negro, a subject that he had taken up assiduously 
 since a recent tour through the southern States of 
 America. And Mary Kenney decided to put her 
 father's theories into active practice. She became 
 a West African worker, and had made three trips 
 to the coast before she met Ralph Wrigley on one 
 of the homeward-bound steamers. 
 
 They married early in the following spring, and 
 Mrs. Wrigley travelled with her husband to Lagos, 
 at which place he was then stationed. In this 
 colony she spoke upon platforms, worried the 
 employers of negro labour into a milder form of 
 government, talked in native huts with witch-men, 
 studied or professed to study ethnology, and 
 went home to England after three years' residence 
 on the coast to work up her material. The result 
 
 179
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 was her one and only volume. She had none of 
 the poetic insight of Mary Kingsley, nor the 
 strength of moral. The negro was a creature 
 beyond her reach, and her volume was heartily 
 condemned by the critics. Mrs. Wrigley's literary 
 career was over. She determined to lay the pen 
 aside, and use that more comprehensive weapon 
 the tongue. 
 
 Three months after her return to London her 
 child was born. She named it Margaret, and wrote 
 to Lagos in a new pride of possession, " Such a 
 pink little darling, Ralph : all eyes and chubby 
 limbs. I will remain at home until your term of 
 office is over ; but I cannot understand how you 
 will be able to live without seeing our little 
 Maggie." Ten years later Wrigley transferred 
 from the African Association to his residence at 
 Grand Bassa. His wife made one or two flying 
 visits, but was devoted to the upbringing of her 
 daughter. This was now an accomplished fact, so 
 she had yielded to her husband's persuasions, and 
 brought out their child to Liberia. 
 
 The passing of the years had not dimmed the 
 lady's passion for everything that was modern, 
 progressive, new. She spent the time that was not 
 given up to her household claims in propaganda 
 work. Her husband allowed her 75 per cent, 
 of his income, so that she was always in easy 
 circumstances. 
 
 Maggie Wrigley refused to become enthusiastic 
 upon social questions. She favoured her father, 
 who was of a quiet, amiable disposition. Her pet 
 diversion was cycling, and she subscribed to 
 Mudies'. She never made the slightest pretence 
 
 1 80
 
 Vie de Boheme 
 
 at being advanced when out of her mother's pre- 
 sence, and sh^ chose her friends from the idle 
 fringe of suburban London. 
 
 When Frank returned to the Atlantic House, 
 after the death of Mrs. Summerton, he was met with 
 cordiality by the ladies. That he was a journalist 
 who had eagerly interested himself in the negro 
 problem, and so far shown his contempt of social 
 conventions as to marry a Liberian, made him a 
 subject of great interest to the stout matron who 
 rose to greet him. Mrs. Wrigley had many theories 
 about literature, but little actual knowledge ; and 
 Frank found himself in the midst of a conversation 
 before he had been five minutes in the house. 
 Wrigley was taking a humorous delight in urging 
 the talk into a serious view. 
 
 " Benson is a lecturer too, you know, Mary." 
 
 "Indeed? Now, how delightful that is! Because 
 I should like to introduce you to one or two 
 societies at home. Do you lecture upon social- 
 ism, Mr. Benson ? I could easily put you in 
 touch with the secretaries of the London halls, 
 and you could arrange dates, pending your 
 return." 
 
 Frank disclaimed any socialistic views. When 
 he said humbly that his subjects were literary in 
 the main, she looked somewhat disenchanted ; 
 but took rice from the steward with an air of 
 interest. 
 
 " What an instructive play that one is at the 
 Royalty ! Don't you think so ? But, of course, 
 you haven't seen it. In my opinion Wilberforce 
 was really plucky to put it on, and Pinero's fame 
 is going up by leaps and bounds." 
 
 181
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 "I shouldn't have thought The Girl Who 
 Would deserved your praise," said Frank, with 
 a slight smile. " I have only read the book. These 
 advanced plays with a problem and a past are very 
 tiresome productions. Comic opera is far more 
 to my taste." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley's spoon clattered on to her 
 plate. She was surprised at the confession. 
 All the literary men whom she had met in Eng- 
 land avowed a penchant for Pinero. Her husband 
 frowned his indulgent disapproval across the 
 table. 
 
 " Frank is talking nonsense, Mary. He often 
 does that to deceive people. He is as fond of 
 Wing Pinero as you are." 
 
 His eyes were twinkling merrily, and he uttered 
 the last sentence with emphasis. 
 
 " There was a delicious cartoon in the Studio last 
 month, Mr. Benson. Did you see it ? It is by 
 that new artist of the Aubrey Beardsley school. 
 The conception is magnificently subtle and con- 
 vincing." 
 
 Frank had caught up the spirit of the conversa- 
 tion. " Oh yes," he laughed. " I remember the 
 thing. My people often send me the art magazines. 
 It is splashed and streaked as though a spider had 
 walked over it, and the bodies of the man and 
 woman are all out of proportion. Lily and I were 
 having a smile at it a few days ago. It is a poor 
 piece of work. I can assure you, Lily understands 
 a joke as well as anyone, and she laughed quite 
 heartily over the picture." 
 
 Mr. Wrigley's foot touched his warningly, but 
 he was in a happy mood of raillery, and cared 
 
 182
 
 Vie de Boheme 
 
 nothing for these admonitions. He was further 
 encouraged by the smile on Miss Maggie's face 
 as from to time she looked at him demurely. 
 
 An embarrassed pause ensued, while the good 
 lady played with the dessert. 
 
 "Have you read Ibsen's latest volume? It 
 throws a new light on the social problem of woman, 
 and makes very good reading." 
 
 Frank only sighed in mock distress. 
 
 " No, 1 haven't read it. But I perused A Doll's 
 House some time ago, and Ibsen will be only 
 travelling over the same ground again." He 
 spoke with a degree of solemnity which denoted 
 that he was vastly amused. " After all, he 
 only repeats the platitudes that have been ex- 
 pressed equally as well before. Surely, you agree 
 with me ? " 
 
 At this reply Maggie burst into a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 " Oh, it is so funny, mamma," she said apologeti- 
 cally. " You are talking shop, thinking that it will 
 please Mr. Benson, and he is showing you that he 
 is quite an ordinary mortal. Don't you see that 
 he is playing ? " 
 
 Frank looked fearfully at Mrs. Wrigley. That 
 good lady, to his great astonishment, joined in the 
 laughter, and returned his humorous glance with 
 one as equally relieved. They drifted into a fluent 
 chat that was made up of snatches of epigram and 
 broken sentences interspersed with ripples of merri- 
 ment. Benson felt when he rose from the table 
 that he should be on the best of terms with his 
 new friends. 
 
 " It is so refreshing to find you not a prig," said 
 
 183
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 Maggie frankly, as they sat out on the piazza. 
 " I was afraid that you would turn out to be one 
 of those conceited people who are made up of 
 sham and false sentiment. Tell me about your 
 engagement. You must introduce me to Miss 
 Summerton as early as you possibly can. I am 
 determined to like her, and we shall be great 
 companions." 
 
 Frank talked to her with a growing sense of 
 intimacy until Wrigley warned them that the night 
 air was becoming too cold. 
 
 Among the numerous letters which arrived for 
 Benson by the next steamer he received one from 
 Clayton : 
 
 " Sinoe is to be my new station, old boy. 
 Congratulate me. The c boss ' made absolutely no 
 objection to my suggestion regarding Nellie, and 
 we were married last week. He said that it would 
 keep me straight. He is a terrible stickler upon 
 questions of propriety, as you know. The wife 
 is to sail with me a week hence. I have already 
 booked with Elder's, and we are to sail on the 26th 
 of August by the Fantee. At Sierra Leone we will 
 catch the Boma, and we are due at Grand Bassa on 
 September the I5th. These steamers generally lie 
 in the harbour for a day, as you are well aware, so 
 I will come ashore and introduce you to the wife. 
 She is an awfully nice girl . . ." 
 
 For over a week from the day that this letter 
 was handed to him at the little wooden hut known 
 in Bassa as the post office no steamer came into 
 the harbour from England. There were a couple 
 of Germans from the coast, and a liquor boat from 
 Hamburg. But early each morning, as the dim 
 
 184
 
 Vie de Boheme 
 
 outline of the vessels appeared upon the horizon, 
 Sarnie called at the little galley of the factory down- 
 stairs to inquire the name of the steamer. On the 
 morning that the Hamburg boat arrived she came 
 into the yard with her hands full of bush-blossoms. 
 A daintier bride need never have been wished than 
 the figure that presented itself to Benson's surprised 
 vision. She had decked herself out in all her 
 finery, and the many chains which Clayton had given 
 to her from time to time were round her neck. 
 But she looked anxious and weary behind the 
 splendour of her smiles. It was evident that this 
 protracted course of waiting had told upon her 
 health. 
 
 Leaning over the piazza-rail, Frank told her that 
 she looked unwell. Slowly she ascended the. stairs 
 to him. 
 
 " Ah ! But waiting and watching make me old 
 too soon. To-day I shall be well and happy 
 again. This steamer is from England, is it not 
 so?" 
 
 Out of pity he told her the day when Clayton 
 was due to arrive. " He should have acted honour- 
 ably," he said to himself in apology. " I am not 
 bound to uphold him in his perfidy." A shade 
 of disappointment passed over her face, but she 
 turned away with a more satisfied air. 
 
 That morning Benson wrote in hot anger to his 
 fellow-countryman, upbraiding him for what he 
 had done, and demanding that some show of re- 
 compense should be made. He sent the letter 
 overland, by way of the beach, to Monrovia, the 
 port of call next to Bassa. No doubt Clayton 
 would pick it up in passing. After he had done 
 
 185
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 this he turned to his ordinary duties with a freer 
 conscience. 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley was quickly at home with the 
 Liberians. In Upper Buchanan existed a little 
 society of people who maintained that they followed 
 the higher education. Once they had approached 
 Frank for a lecture, and he had spoken upon the 
 subject of " Ralph Waldo Emerson." But he had 
 returned home dimly ashamed and abashed ; for 
 it had been obvious that Emerson's name had never 
 been uttered before in the whole of the town. 
 With this community the matron was soon in- 
 timate, and at breakfast one morning Frank found 
 a short note on his plate. It read almost like a 
 command. 
 
 "You are requested specially to attend the 
 Government House on Wednesday evening next, 
 the 1 2th inst., at the hour of seven p.m., to lecture 
 before the public of Grand Bassa and environs. 
 The subject, we should like to bear upon our race, 
 and the chair will be occupied by Mrs. Kenney 
 Wrigley." 
 
 Benson smiled amusedly. There seemed to be 
 a threat implied that if he failed to succeed in 
 pleasing them, he might expect to lose his prestige. 
 But he took down his books and planned the 
 lecture most carefully. You cannot dare be flippant 
 with a semi-educated audience. His subject was 
 "The Education of the Negro," and the title he 
 knew would ensure him a large and satisfactory 
 audience. Perhaps his would be the first voice in 
 Grand Bassa that would point out the possibilities 
 of the Liberian Republic. He looked forward 
 to the occasion with a degree of pleasure that both 
 
 186
 
 Vie de Boheme 
 
 astonished and delighted him. Lily he had not 
 met since his return to the house on the beach, 
 but a little note reached him on the day of the 
 lecture : 
 
 "Look for me to-night, Frank. You must 
 succeed for my sake." 
 
 187
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 THE VOICE OF HOPE 
 
 " Lead thine own captivity captive, and be Caesar 
 within thyself" 
 
 '""THE hall was crowded when the party from the 
 factory arrived, and new visitors were pour- 
 ing in constantly. Mrs. Wrigley's introductory 
 remarks were delivered forcibly. Liberia occupied 
 an unique place in the modern scheme of nations. 
 She had almost infinite possibilities. It behoved 
 every citizen to be alert, practical, active. 
 
 Frank pronounced his title slowly, and the words 
 made the old Government House to ring again 
 "The Education of the Negro." The opening 
 sentences were somewhat hesitant. Soon he 
 gathered strength, and there was a straightforward 
 and honest decisiveness about his words that made 
 the people sit silent and attentive. 
 
 " Miss Mary Kingsley had one favourite phrase 
 which she was wont to use on all manner of occa- 
 sion, * The black man is just the same as the white 
 man only different.' I may be obtuse ; I think 
 I am ; but this declaration leaves me mightily per- 
 plexed. To my mind the negro is just the same as 
 the Caucasian in his possession of faculties, powers, 
 and susceptibilities, and in general character. He 
 
 1 88
 
 The Voice of Hope 
 
 is a man, and is responsible for all that appertains 
 to humanity : the multiplication table and the 
 beatitudes appeal to him in the same way that 
 they arraign a white man of the same degree of 
 education. 
 
 "The functions of education are to enable the 
 recipient of the teaching to make a living, and to 
 become a useful member of society. In Liberia 
 there are thousands of negroes employed in profit- 
 able pursuits, but this labour falls far below the 
 degree of efficiency and skill which the industrial 
 rivalry of the age demands. This is why Liberia 
 is so thoroughly dependent upon England and 
 Germany for her necessaries. 
 
 " How can this crude and wasteful labour be 
 made intelligent and economic ; and in what way 
 can the Liberian be rendered self-reliant ? These 
 are the questions of industrial education to-day. 
 To the philanthropist the means are not of such 
 consequence as the end. Whether it is by the 
 study of Emerson and Ruskin, or the application 
 of mathematics, that the negro is lifted to a higher 
 state of responsibility is immaterial, so that his 
 mental cultivation is ensured, and that this improve- 
 ment reacts beneficially upon the community. It 
 has been affirmed with dogmatic reiteration that 
 the negro is incapable of mastering the higher 
 branches of knowledge, and that European culture 
 is impossible to him. This statement has been 
 amply refuted in our colonies. In Lagos and on 
 the Gold Coast are hundreds of educated negroes 
 who have mastered our general learning. It cannot 
 reasonably be expected, however, that a whole race 
 shall leap at one bound over the gulf which 
 
 189
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 separates rawness from refinement, corruption 
 from stability, barbarism from civilisation. The 
 negro has shown that he undoubtedly possesses 
 the requisite abilities to become a worthy citizen 
 of the world, and a cultured gentleman ; but it 
 will need centuries of patient effort before the 
 whole negro race can be made worthy of a place 
 equal to that of the white nations in the march of 
 progress." 
 
 The audience was very still. Frank was in 
 quiet vein, and showed his fervour only in his 
 eyes. But as he went on his manner became more 
 positive, and he exhaled vitality. Lily sought her 
 friends' faces, and marked with satisfaction the 
 doubts gradually clearing away from their brows. 
 
 " There is the actional side of the question to be 
 considered. Although the negro has acquisitive 
 ability, it cannot be denied that he lacks the assimi- 
 lative power to turn it to a practical use. This 
 statement may appear unjust ; but it is proven by 
 the fact that, outside Liberia, only under the guidance 
 of white people has the negro become prominent 
 in any branch of learning. The question of the 
 relative capacities of the black and white races need 
 hardly be insisted upon. Their planes of develop- 
 ment and social status are totally dissimilar. Behind 
 the Aryan race lie centuries of speculative and 
 practical labour. Behind the negro race lie cen- 
 turies of serfdom and slavery, oppression and 
 ignorance. It cannot be expected that a subject 
 breed of men shall produce names rivalling those 
 presented by nations which possess power and 
 knowledge and wisdom. * Where is the literature 
 of Africa ? ' it is asked. It lies in the future. 
 
 190
 
 The Voice of Hope 
 
 The Greeks, it has been long conceded, were the 
 most intellectual people that ever lived. Yet at 
 the present time the country that produced Homer 
 and Plato, Euripides and Phidias, has so far 
 degenerated as to be the pity of the nations. 
 
 " 'Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
 Our virgins dance beneath the shade. 
 I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 
 But, gazing on each glowing maid, 
 My own the burning teardrop laves 
 To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 
 
 " ' 'Place me on Sun turn's marbled steep 
 
 Where nothing, save the waves and I, 
 May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
 
 There, swan-like, let me sing and die; 
 A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine 
 Dash down yon cup of Samian 
 
 " How can there possibly arise a Shakespeare 
 among savages, a Milton among Bushmen, a 
 Tennyson among only superficially educated and 
 developed men ? The time is coming, none the 
 less, when Africa shall have her literature. Liberia 
 possesses such glorious advantages over her neigh- 
 bouring colonies, in that she is the home of the 
 free negro, that a literature is growing around her 
 like a halo. A hundred years ago it was thrown in 
 the teeth of America that she had not yet produced 
 one man of genius. Thomas Jefferson retorted 
 hotly, and said that when the nation had existed 
 as long as the Greeks had lived before Homer 
 appeared, or the English before Chaucer was born, 
 America would possess her galaxy of great people. 
 How nobly this has been proved ! The greatest 
 
 191
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 names in our literature, the names that are loved 
 and revered above all others Longfellow, Holmes, 
 Emerson, Whitman, Hawthorne hail from the 
 land of our New England fathers." 
 
 His resonant voice filled the building, and 
 seemed to resent the confines of its walls. A 
 murmur like that of the sea rose from the people. 
 
 " Surely the same degree of tolerance shall be 
 admitted to Liberia and to the negro race through- 
 out the world ? Let this Republic shield herself 
 from reproach behind the plea of the prudent 
 Jefferson. The nation is as yet too young to show 
 excess of intellectual exuberance. But the fact 
 that the negro's artistic faculties have not been 
 wholly smothered by slavery is amply demonstrated 
 by the achievements of coloured people in America. 
 The literary skill of Phyllis Wheatley and Albert 
 Johnson, the scientific ability of Benjamin Banneker 
 and Frank Bryne, the instinct of colour in Alice 
 Monsang, the administrative power of Frederick 
 Douglass and Arthur Barclay, the poetic capacity of 
 Paul Laurence Dunbar and John Benson Biggs, 
 the eloquence of Emmanuel Williams and Samuel 
 Ferguson all are evidences of the negro's possi- 
 bilities. I could mention other names equally as 
 persuasive to the ears of the public of Liberia from 
 the circle of my own intimates in the Republic ; 
 but it would not be policy to point too openly 
 to the efforts of these workers. More than one 
 senator of Monrovia would grace the administration 
 of a white country. 
 
 "From calendars of American publishers I see 
 that over two thousand books have been written by 
 coloured men and women. The negro's inventive 
 
 192
 
 The Voice of Hope 
 
 talent has been proven in about eight hundred 
 patents registered in the patent offices of Great 
 Britain and the United States. In Liberia there 
 are four ably edited and cleverly written magazines 
 published periodically, and it is palpable that the 
 instincts of the race are becoming nobler with the 
 advance of the years. 
 
 " The negro has now reached a critical stage in 
 his career of development. Despite the apparent 
 friendliness of such people as have visited Africa 
 and written volumes about him, the amicable re- 
 lations that exist between the black and white races 
 are on the decline. The connection is daily becom- 
 ing more formal and business-like. It is only by 
 means of the schools and colleges that a higher 
 standard of excellence may be maintained and a 
 nobler mode of life inculcated. The negro must 
 cease to be dependent. In Liberia there are three 
 educational institutions. Of these, two are in 
 Monrovia : the College of West Africa, conducted 
 by my friend Dr. A. P. Camphor ; and the Liberia 
 College, supported by the Government. The third 
 is at Cape Palmas, and is known as the Cuttington 
 University. Many bright men have been produced 
 here, and some of the cleverest people in the 
 Republic are connected with it. To you all these 
 will be well-known facts ; but I tabulate them to 
 show the advantages of education. 
 
 " In preaching this gospel of the higher culture, 
 I must not forget to impress upon the coloured 
 youth that they cannot afford to ignore the agri- 
 cultural pursuits of the country. Knowledge and 
 its acquirement can be coupled with a manual 
 avocation, and the moral nature will thus be de- 
 N 193
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 veloped side by side with the physical. The surest 
 way in which to incite a people to a good and pure 
 social atmosphere is surely by showing them that 
 the material demands of life are of equal import- 
 ance with the spiritual. When the workman is 
 labouring honestly, and is at the same time strug- 
 gling towards an ideal, he enters upon his vocation 
 with enthusiasm and zest, feeling the rousing in- 
 fluence of the joy of service and the development 
 of self. 
 
 " You cannot be a nation of gentlemen until you 
 have first been a nation of labourers. 
 
 " Naturally and irrevocably, it will be many 
 years before the native population can have this joy 
 in work. The unimaginative labourer pursues the 
 dull routine of his task, spurred on only by the 
 hope of food and drink, and by his master's stern 
 commands. To him time and the hour are ever 
 present, and one day is as like another as a week is 
 like its predecessor. 
 
 " ' To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow. 
 Creep in this steady pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time.' 
 
 " It is, then, the duty of the educated negro to 
 give his less enlightened brother the necessary 
 imagination. The natives here need prospect and 
 vista. They must receive it if the Republic is to 
 be a permanent success. Under slavery the negro 
 has toiled as an animal, dependent upon his daily 
 labour for his daily bread. To perpetuate the 
 industrial incapacity of the negro it is only needful 
 for him to be kept to the low ground of drudgery 
 and toil. To uplift and ennoble him it is only 
 
 194
 
 The Voice of Hope 
 
 essential for him to be free, responsible, unre- 
 pressed. The man with a home, a mother-country, 
 and social privileges to claim as his own irretriev- 
 ably, is sustained by an ideal ; and can consecrate the 
 most menial labour to the welfare of his fellows. 
 
 " The white peoples must not be too impatient. 
 If it takes twenty years to instil into the mind of 
 an English lad, with a pedigree of good honest 
 yeomen, the fundamental principles of right and 
 wrong, how much longer must it take to rightly 
 educate a black boy ? The teaching of the negro is 
 slow, but it is at least fairly sure. No reform has 
 ever fulfilled the expectations of its projector, and 
 the huge sums of money expended on the negro 
 colonies have wrought greater advantage to the 
 welfare of the human race than non-imperialists 
 can ever dream." 
 
 Benson glanced across at Lily. Their eyes met, 
 and a smile crept over her mouth. Her eyes 
 gleamed in reply. She would marry no man but 
 him. And now he flung himself into his lecture, 
 and the people hung on his words, and felt and 
 saw and thought only on his words. 
 
 "An eminent American recently declared that 
 the negro wears his education as a coat of paint, 
 and that if you scratch you will find the rust be- 
 neath the surface. This is a prevalent belief, and 
 in a sense it is a correct one. I shall deal with this 
 aspect of the case in a subsequent lecture, God 
 willing. Meantime I stoutly contend that the 
 negro is no more reprehensible than the white man 
 in this respect. How often do we see wild out- 
 bursts of fury and madness, mobilisations of civi- 
 lised people, and demonstrations of anger in various
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 sections of English home life ? Does not the 
 savage always lie near the surface ? Is it not un- 
 reasonable to expect that a few brief years of 
 schooling will do for the African that which twenty 
 centuries of patient culture has not fully done for 
 the Aryan ? I know many negro gentlemen here, 
 and I can safely say that they show a gentleness 
 and a consistency of manner equal with that of my 
 white friends. If the Aryan races, on the whole, 
 are better able to hide their inherent savagery from 
 the general view than the negro, it is because the 
 paint is thicker by reason of more frequent applica- 
 tion of the brush nothing more. 
 
 " It can hardly be a reproach to the negro to say 
 that if he is left to himself he will lapse into bar- 
 barism. No people, without assistance from a 
 higher race, can lift themselves or have ever lifted 
 themselves from a lower to a higher level of 
 civilisation. The Liberian has been brought up 
 to his present state of development by association 
 with the white people of America. 
 
 "There has been much talk of late about the 
 subjugation of the tropics, and our recent South 
 African victory has unsettled the minds of many 
 thinking men in Liberia. Whether or not this war 
 was a just one is no question to discuss here ; but 
 this fact is apparent the indecision of our states- 
 men at the time of the Majuba massacres has now 
 been atoned for and undone. There are English- 
 men who declare that a further extent of empire on 
 the West Coast of Africa is a thing not to be 
 desired, and in my poor opinion this show of anti- 
 imperialism is far from being a healthy sign. 
 
 " The Sierra Leone hut tax war has induced 
 196
 
 The Voice of Hope 
 
 many educated Africans to remark, in conversation, 
 that an English policy, when applied to West 
 Africa, is dishonourable. It is indeed a foolish 
 system, that induces agrarian grievances ; but be- 
 cause this has happened in your neighbouring 
 colony it does not necessarily follow that we have 
 dealt treacherously with the negro race. The suc- 
 cessful working of our new system since these 
 injuries have been satisfied proves the workability 
 of our ideas. 
 
 " Liberia is a region eminently suitable for trade 
 and commerce, undeveloped, and with almost un- 
 dreamed-of mineral possibilities. But it is not 
 essential for England to steal the Liberians' land in 
 order to use it to their mutual advantage. The 
 worth of this Republic to Great Britain consists in 
 its being rich with produce of a kind which is 
 almost indispensable to our home needs. The 
 ethical question : < Is British colonisation needful to 
 the development of the native character ? ' need not 
 be discussed here with the same amount of in- 
 sistence as is applied to our colonies along the 
 coast. The pure Liberian immigrant American 
 negro is fitted for the task of educating the 
 aborigine. Two hundred years' association with 
 white culture has rendered him worthy of the task. 
 We can waive therefore our moral and religious 
 scruples. Slavery has been suppressed ; petty tribal 
 tyrannies, the principle of whose existence was 
 robbery and the destruction of property, have been 
 abolished ; and the gradual conversion of the native 
 to a belief in the manliness of work, and the up- 
 lifting of woman from a state of servile labour 
 to one of natural companionship all these have 
 
 197
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 resulted from the Liberian form of government. 
 Infinite care must have been expended upon the 
 work; and before the world this little colony of 
 freed slaves should stand, not as a spectacle of 
 futility, but as a grand structure of noble effort 
 and grand endeavour. 
 
 " These effects, insignificant as they may appear 
 to modern-minded people, constitute forces for the 
 increasing and permanent welfare of the natives, 
 and they are an honour to the Liberian Senate. 
 The native labour question is intimately bound 
 up in that of the progress of the Republic. The 
 dignity of work is the first lesson to be implanted 
 in the minds of the aborigines, and this is their 
 first step in social advancement. Liberia is a fertile 
 country, and the natives possess qualities which 
 a few brief years of earnest trial will make into a 
 most useful working community. 
 
 " Agriculture, above all things, must be studied. 
 The plough must be in constant requisition. 
 Cotton, too, can be cultured ; and here lies a fruit- 
 ful source of revenue. The difficulties which yet 
 confront the Liberian Government are enormous. 
 It is true that the natives have been subjugated, 
 but without a thorough statecraft, the organisation 
 of railways, the installation of electricity, and the 
 opening out of the interior, the Republic will be 
 practically helpless. It is to the native population 
 that the Liberian must look at the moment. Let 
 them be turned steadily to agricultural pursuits, 
 and civilisation will quickly obtain a firm footing. 
 Justice for both strong and weak, labour for all 
 this is the foundation-stone of a natural and 
 successful policy. Under these quieter home-rules 
 
 198
 
 g 
 The Voice of Hope 
 
 a desire for improvement, more especially in the 
 mechanical arts of life, will be felt. Your colleges 
 are open. Ultimately the country will rejoice in 
 her native-built railways, and her reservoirs and 
 waterways. 
 
 " The past history of the negro does not suggest 
 too rapid progress. Liberia will have to advance 
 slowly. The Government has raised those who 
 have come in touch with her from actual barbarism 
 and cannibalism to a conduct of peace and pros- 
 perity. My firm and unswerving belief is that a 
 policy of firmness, tempered with justice, modera- 
 tion, and sympathy, with a keen outlook upon the 
 finances of the land, will result in Liberia's final 
 success among the nations." 
 
 His peroration had not been eloquent, but he 
 finished impressively. The faces of the people 
 were thoughtful. He had not flattered. There 
 was no hearty applause, such as had met him on 
 the former occasion ; but the deep light in Lily's 
 eyes as she pressed his hand at the door testified to 
 his success. 
 
 It was on the way home that Mrs. Wrigley made 
 her great announcement. Maggie's gentle voice 
 broke the silence as they neared the house : 
 " Mother, Mr. Benson has interested me greatly 
 to-night. Cannot we have a paper in Grand Bassa ? 
 I am sure that it would help, and I understand 
 this is the only county in the Republic without its 
 magazine." 
 
 "I'll do it," cried Mrs. Wrigley. "We will 
 discuss it over supper, and Ralph and I will 
 conduct the campaign while Mr. Benson is away 
 on his honeymoon." 
 
 199
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 RUS IN URBE 
 
 " And so we wandered gladly on, 
 
 And talked of all things fair and good, 
 Too wondrous to be understood, 
 Yet things we loved to think upon " 
 
 steward-boys had been prepared for a late 
 return of the party from the " white man 
 play," and hot coffee was on the table. Little 
 justice was done to the eatables, and small boy 
 Ki carried downstairs to the galley amazing stories 
 of the " book palaver " that was being talked in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley was practical. She had never 
 been a visionary, despite her efforts to shine as an 
 authoress. But it was from Maggie that the most 
 practical suggestions came. The paper should be 
 bi-monthly, and have the name of Better Things. 
 It should be devoted primarily to the interests of 
 the negro race, but the inculcation of the higher 
 education must be the great object. Mamma could 
 run the paper as editress, and Mr. Benson must 
 leave a supply of suitable copy behind him. Upon 
 their return from England Frank might take a 
 more active part in the management, and Lily could 
 then preside over the art and music column. Papa 
 
 300
 
 Rus in Urbe 
 
 would contribute articles upon the Liverpool and 
 Hamburg markets. The price of the magazine 
 must be nominal, and local advertisements could 
 be made to cover the expense of production. 
 
 They were all still under the glamour of the 
 evening's events. Benson promised three or four 
 articles before his departure from Grand Bassa, and 
 admitted that he had several poems in rough draft. 
 Even young Jack Summerton had his appointed 
 place. He wrote excellent English, terse, plain, 
 unvarnished, and could talk pleasingly about local 
 events. Before midnight the first issue was almost 
 completely planned, and the next few days passed 
 in an intricate medley of printer's proofs and soiled 
 manuscripts. The press they had bought from 
 Monrovia, and new founts of type had been 
 secured. Thus, the first issue was on the market 
 a full three weeks before the date fixed for the 
 wedding of Frank and Lily. There was in none 
 of the contributors' minds any foolish idea about 
 the importance of his work. Benson alone knew 
 that his matter would command a price in London 
 that would have astonished the purchasers of 
 Better Things. But, none the less, he looked at 
 his article upon "The Gri-Gri Bush in its 
 Relation to the Liberian Statute " with a thrill 
 of pride. Was not Lily's name next to his, above 
 a dainty column of whimsical talk about the 
 art magazines ? 
 
 August had almost run its course. The days 
 were often wet and humid, but there was an ever- 
 changing beauty in the place. Frank looked for- 
 ward to his marriage with a degree of pleasure 
 never felt before. 
 
 201
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 When the Boma arrived, outward bound, she 
 was three days overdue. Under the scrutiny of 
 the glass Benson read her name long before she 
 had anchored. Almost instantaneous with the long 
 boom of her gun he saw Samie of Veytown 
 approaching by way of the beach. She came pant- 
 ing up the stairs in happy haste. " He has come, 
 then," she cried eagerly. 
 
 To-day the baby was not in her arms, but she 
 seemed to be dressed in her best silks, and had 
 apparently recovered all her youthful vivacity and 
 charm. He counselled patience, and pointed out 
 to her the indiscretion of such haste. Mr. Clayton 
 would be ashore soon, and he would then deliver 
 all the news to him. Meantime it would be 
 advisable for her to remain at home. He spoke 
 reluctantly, and inwardly hoped that he would not 
 be present when the meeting took place between 
 Clayton and the girl whom he had wronged. 
 
 But half an hour after she had left the house 
 the boat-boys brought him a hastily scribbled note 
 from the steamer. " I'm afraid that I shall be 
 unable to come ashore, and what you have written 
 to me is not very encouraging. I had a touch of 
 fever in Monrovia, and I must recuperate a little 
 before I land. 1 am sending my wife to you in 
 the care of the captain. . . . Hang it, Benson, I 
 never dreamed of a development like this. Help 
 me out of the scrape. I am enclosing five pounds 
 for Samie, and hope that you will be able to fix the 
 palaver for me." 
 
 During the greater part of the morning the 
 whole of the occupants of the Atlantic House were 
 in the town on business connected with supplies of 
 
 202
 
 Rus in Urbe 
 
 provisions. About noon the Wrigleys proceeded 
 to Buchanan to visit the Summertons, and Frank 
 returned to the factory alone. The house-boys 
 informed him that Sarnie had called twice in the 
 hope of seeing her white "husband." His heart 
 ached for the little thing, as he remembered her 
 anxious face and piteous smiles. 
 
 He lunched alone, and had just retired to his 
 hammock on the verandah for a smoke, when she 
 came in again, breathless and hurried, as though 
 she had been running. 
 
 There were no smiles or words of greeting. 
 Each seemed to understand the import of Clayton's 
 absence. He placed a chair for her, but she refused 
 to sit down. 
 
 " I think so my heart be sick. I get pain here." 
 
 She placed her hand passionately on her breast. 
 There was another conscious silence. At last Frank 
 took Clayton's letter from his pocket, and said 
 gently 
 
 " He is not to remain in Bassa ; his station 
 now is further down the coast. His wife will be 
 here soon, and he seems to be very happy." He 
 did not look at her, and his voice was purposely 
 merciless and hard. " He has sent you. . . ." The 
 words would not come ; this seemed the hardest 
 blow of all. Anon he concluded with precipitation, 
 " five pounds in English money to show you that 
 he has not forgotten you." 
 
 She seemed incredulous. " His wife ? Happy ? " 
 she murmured gaspingly. " I no savee how this 
 thing be. Am I not his wife ? " 
 
 " My poor child." 
 
 " How can he be happy suppose I no live 
 203
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 with him ? And how how can I be happy 
 suppose " 
 
 Her head drooped. 
 
 "Do he know that I have a baby ?" It was her 
 last hope, and Benson could not bear to look into 
 her frightened eyes. 
 
 He answered with his head down. " Yes, he 
 knows. I have told him all." 
 
 She reeled as though he had struck her. The 
 woe in the girl's pretty face appalled him. He 
 caught her as she fell, and carried her gently to 
 his room. Her head had fallen limply on to her 
 shoulder, and the anguished eyes were closed in an 
 alleviating unconsciousness. 
 
 Some minutes passed, during which he leaned 
 over the piazza-rail in a distress that was both 
 genuine and sincere. Then he heard Coffee calling 
 across the yard, and a hearty voice saying, " Up- 
 stairs, upstairs, Mrs. Clayton. This is not the 
 first time that I have visited the factory." It was 
 the cheerful captain of the Boma, and a light trill 
 of laughter answered him, accompanied by a few 
 murmured words. Footsteps were ascending the 
 stairs. The windows of Benson's room looked out 
 on the piazza, but he drew chairs forward, and 
 waited to welcome his friend's wife. 
 
 She was a breezy English girl of the comfortable 
 middle class, full of life and movement, healthy 
 and undeniably pretty. She came on to the 
 alcoved balcony with a breath like that of country 
 lanes. 
 
 " Mr. Benson ? I am so pleased to meet you. 
 That's conventional of course ; but I mean it. 
 We are like old friends. Arthur is always 
 
 204
 
 Rus in Urbe 
 
 talking of you, and I have read your stories for 
 many years." 
 
 He greeted them with diffidence, and they talked 
 for a few minutes with constraint. He could per- 
 ceive that Clayton's wife was intensely disenchanted 
 with his manners. And even the whisky and cigars 
 that Coffee placed before the captain did not serve 
 to assure him of welcome. He looked curiously 
 at his host. " We met Wrigley in the town. His 
 wife is a really fine woman, and that little daughter 
 of theirs is just like an acid drop enjoyable, but 
 severe." 
 
 Frank could not restrain a laugh at the quaint 
 analogy. He was sitting with his back to the sea, 
 and suddenly became aware of a pair of wild eyes 
 looking at him from the window of his room. 
 His amusement was hushed. It was Sarnie. She 
 tried to smile at him, but the effort broke down 
 woefully. She succeeded in shaking her head at 
 him to enjoin silence. He must have shown signs 
 of his emotion, for Mrs. Clayton turned her head 
 and saw the little native. 
 
 " What a lovely girl, Mr. Benson ! I never knew 
 before that there were such pretty inhabitants in 
 Liberia." 
 
 She rose, and approached the window : " Won't 
 you kiss me, little one ? " 
 
 Sarnie looked at her blankly. " No," she said 
 emphatically. 
 
 But the captain had broken in with a hearty 
 laugh, " I always thought you were a woman- 
 hater, my boy, until Wrigley told me this morn- 
 ing of your engagement. Is this fair to Miss 
 Summerton ? " 
 
 205
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 Benson frowned at him and hesitated. Loyalty 
 to Clayton held him dumb. Whatever stories 
 might be circulated and Bassa was renowned for 
 its scandal Lily would trust him. The English 
 girl only smiled. 
 
 " Arthur was telling me something of his amours 
 here, Mr. Benson. I cannot wonder that you poor 
 men fall in love with the country girls, if they are 
 all like this one. We Englishwomen are imbibing 
 continental notions by degrees we are not so strict 
 upon these matters as we had used to be. But as 
 for marrying a black girl why, I cannot imagine 
 a white man stooping so low. Your case must be 
 quite without precedent in Liberia." 
 
 Frank had flushed hotly. She noticed his 
 vexation, and held out her hand. " Well, good- 
 bye for the present. I must ask the captain to 
 take me on board again. Good day." 
 
 She left him with a flutter of white skirts and 
 a glimpse of dainty slippers. He remained in his 
 chair after they had gone, harassed and worried. 
 His fidelity to Clayton was humiliating, abasing. 
 
 Sarnie came to him, and remained silent for 
 a space. She endeavoured to smile generously, 
 but her face was like a death mask now, the lips 
 convulsed, the eyes full of pain and terror. She 
 slipped the rings from her fingers, and the chains 
 from her neck. Then she held them out to him. 
 
 "They all belong to him, and I cannot wear 
 them now. My heart tire too much. Tell him 
 I sorry. Ah ! What thing I say ? No, no. Tell 
 him I pleased, that I hope he be happy all time." 
 
 Again her head languished upon her breast, and 
 she tried to hide the gaudy silks that had been so 
 
 206
 
 Rus in Urbe 
 
 beautiful in her eyes until one short hour ago. 
 Her eyes slowly filled with tears. 
 
 "Thank him for me that he has been so kind ! 
 And them English mammie be too fine. Say to 
 him that I understand. She be all same daughter 
 of the sun and the sea. But I " 
 
 Benson's throat was choking. He said earnestly, 
 " She is heartless, Sarnie, and, in the sight of God, 
 you are as worthy as she can ever be." He held 
 out his hand. " Good-bye." 
 
 " Goo'-bye." 
 
 He did not see Sarnie again. The news was 
 given to him by his agent at breakfast the next 
 morning. It has always been a mystery how the 
 West Coast natives have mastered the intricacies of 
 native poisons. The girl had quietly administered 
 a narcotic to herself and the child. Her people 
 had found her peacefully resting in the eternal 
 sleep when the town awakened with the dawn. 
 Frank was inexpressibly shocked. He carried 
 himself as a mourner until the young mother and 
 her baby had been placed in the bush. But he 
 knew that Clayton would one day have to pay his 
 price. For the Veys are relentless in avenging 
 their wrongs, and Sarnie was of royal blood. 
 
 The wedding-day rapidly approached. Of com- 
 pulsion, because of the recent death of Mrs. 
 Summerton, the ceremony was to be as quiet as 
 possible ; and it was arranged that Lily and Frank 
 should sail for England on the next steamer 
 arriving from the coast. Maggie Wrigley and a 
 Liberian girl friend were to act as bridesmaids, 
 and Jack Summerton was to become best man. 
 Summerton had the task of giving Lily away, 
 
 207
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 and he looked forward to the occasion with a 
 cheerfulness that was but lightly tinged with 
 melancholy. 
 
 Under circumstances of a similar nature in 
 England, it is probable that Benson would have 
 been affronted by the many discomforts and incon- 
 veniences to which he was subjected during those 
 weeks. There were endless visits of congratulation 
 to the factory from Monrovia and Cape Palmas 
 people, and whiskies and sodas were always in 
 evidence. At the same time although his mind 
 revolted from the constant round of drinking and 
 smoking there was something so kindly and 
 sincere in the voices of the traders, when they 
 shook his hand at parting, that he felt amply 
 compensated. 
 
 Sunday broke clear and beautiful. There was a 
 gentle wind stirring among the leaves, and the air 
 was odorous and sweet. The wedding assembly 
 reached the church at ten o'clock. The steamer 
 had entered the harbour late on the previous after- 
 noon, and would sail that night. There could then 
 be no delay in their departure for England. The 
 ceremony passed off excellently, and the little place 
 of worship was filled with a congregation of gaily 
 dressed people. Benson was glad when they had 
 left the church and the last flower had fallen at 
 Lily's feet. This exuberance of colour did not 
 appeal to his sense of the solemnity to which his 
 marriage made demand. 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley had been most enthusiastic during 
 the initial stages of the engagement, and had en- 
 deared herself to the hearts of both the young 
 people. She entertained her guests at the house 
 
 208
 
 Rus in Urbe 
 
 on the beach with infinite enjoyment : she was a 
 warm-souled woman, and had taken a sincere 
 liking to the Liberian bride. The agent was in 
 high spirits. Frank's popularity reflected upon 
 him, and this slight link between England and 
 Liberia would bring in much of the local trade. 
 There were only five or six special friends present 
 besides Summerton and his nephew. The cook 
 had made an appropriate effort, and the dishes 
 were well and cleanly served. The wines Wrigley 
 had selected, and they were all of the best. 
 
 Frank smiled at his white-robed wife as she sat 
 quietly by his side. " Tell me what you would 
 like, Lily. This is your affair, remember." 
 
 " You must select for me, Frank. I want you 
 to take care of me." 
 
 They laughed at each other merrily. This 
 counterfeit abandonment of self pleased while it 
 did not beguile him. Wrigley looked down the 
 table with an answering smile. 
 
 " You are looking very charming, Mrs. Benson," 
 he said. 
 
 " Natural beauty triumphing over unusual 
 events," replied the girl gravely. 
 
 "We shall have to postpone our proposed 
 elephant hunt until your return, Frank," said 
 Summerton, as they lingered over their cigars. 
 " If you only remain a short time in England, we 
 shall be able to wait for you. But you must be no 
 later than Christmas." 
 
 Then the kruboys arrived to say that the boat 
 
 was ready. It was time to say good-bye. There 
 
 were tears in the eyes of the old trader. Lily had 
 
 not been away from him once in the whole of her 
 
 o 209
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 flower-like life. The men parted from the young 
 people on the beach, and Mrs. Wrigley and Maggie 
 waved a farewell from the piazza. The departure 
 from the shore was a kind of display. Several 
 houses had put out their flags, and a little line of 
 friends, beyond the surf, cried out their good 
 wishes. They reached the vessel, and Lily de- 
 scended to her cabin almost immediately, and 
 remained there until the hour of dinner. The 
 Boma it was the same steamer that had carried 
 Clayton from Liverpool moved from her anchor- 
 age as the dusk fell, and about nine o'clock put out 
 to sea. 
 
 Frank leaned over the rail and sighed happily. 
 Lily's eyes were fixed on the glooming shore that 
 she had known as home from birth. Her hand 
 strayed into his. 
 
 " Are you glad to go ? " she asked. 
 
 " How can you ask ? " he laughed. " Surely I 
 look satisfied ! " He brought forward a deck chair 
 for her, and they sat out in the open air until the 
 lights of Bassa had long been absorbed in the 
 night. 
 
 Of the journey no special details need be re- 
 corded. At Sierra Leone a detachment of young 
 soldiers came aboard, England-bound after an 
 absence of two years. Several of them were evi- 
 dently musically inclined, and Lily and Frank 
 would listen to their concertinas and flutes in 
 the pleasant air of the evening. Then when the 
 moon came out fully, and a great silence reigned 
 over the waters, they would promenade the deck 
 in a delicious silence more eloquent than language. 
 
 Autumn in England ! It was the thought of the 
 
 210
 
 Rus in Urbe 
 
 beauties of the seasons in the island still so far 
 away from them that made him censure the climate 
 of Liberia during the rainy season. He wrote the 
 lines early in the morning after they had left Free- 
 town, and read the poem to Lily as the sun was 
 setting 
 
 " Grey pallid dawn, forgotten of the sun, 
 
 And then high noon beneath white pools of sky, 
 Then sudden darkness harsh, long night begun 
 What bird could tell to bid the day ' Good-bye ' ? 
 
 "Dawns thus, nights thus, and never a change, 
 
 This tedious while of weeks in the mid-year ; 
 A butterfly in the morning light looks strange, 
 A birth unnatural in a world so drear. 
 
 " No pulse of breathing Nature beat and thrills 
 Beneath the narrow vault of cloud and wet, 
 Under this humid, acid air that kills : 
 An atmospheric fever present yet. 
 
 " But all this time I know where, too far hence, 
 
 Through earth's pure pores the year's strong life leaps forth; 
 Where air is drunken with its quickening sense : 
 W/iere sky of blue is east, west, south, and north. 
 
 " Where ruby, blue, white blushing at the marge, 
 
 Pearl, sapphire, grey, sweet green and amethyst, 
 Crowded upon the sunny acres large, 
 Are peeping forth in thousands, sunshine-kissed. 
 
 "Oh, angel-flowers, whose scents, fresh, mystic, coy, 
 Close in the heart like childhood's earliest hope, 
 Give me your secret, and your gleeful joy, 
 Lend me th' allurement of your verdant slope. 
 
 " Young children, greedy for the flowers, make haste 
 
 For nosegays which the busy fields hold out ; 
 
 The world is full of flowers : enough to waste, 
 
 And as they scatter down the buds they pout. 
 
 211
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 "Ah me! 'Tis misty in Liberian towns to-day ; 
 
 Our lives lie numbed ; and yet there is for me 
 Some part in sunshine and bird's profuse lay, 
 For England's happy shores my mind can see." 
 
 " It is pretty, but not true," she said. " You arc 
 wronging Grand Bassa." 
 
 And Frank kissed her with an almost intolerable 
 sense of having injured her by dispraising the land 
 that had produced so fair a flower. 
 
 212
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 NEW WONDERS 
 
 " We see only through and by means of the emotions " 
 
 AFTER a twenty-two days' voyage the Boma 
 arrived in Liverpool. The stages were crowded 
 with passengers. They were pouring from the 
 other steamers in a long, unbroken stream, and all 
 betokened a tense pleasure in their coming to 
 English soil. Frank was eagerly watching out for 
 his parents. There had been no time for them to 
 reply to his announcement of his engagement and 
 his subsequent cable declaring his marriage and 
 return. But he knew that his mother would be 
 prepared to welcome his wife for his sake, and he 
 expected that she would meet them, probably 
 accompanied by his father. It was not long before 
 he discovered the old people, looking rather dazed 
 amid their surroundings. He pointed out the 
 luggage to an obsequious porter, and then walked 
 with Lily towards them. 
 
 He felt proud of his girlish wife. There was a 
 slightly provincial look about her, and her skin was 
 darker than the ordinary, but she was composed 
 and quiet. He touched his mother softly on the 
 arm. She turned quickly. " Frank ! " There was 
 
 213
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 a lingering embrace. Then he placed Lily's hand 
 in hers. " This is my wife, mother," he said. 
 
 His father gave him a hearty handclasp. Perhaps 
 the busy scene around them robbed the occasion of 
 its romance. Albeit the greetings were sincere, and 
 the frank pleasure that now shone in both his 
 parents' eyes atoned for the look of anxiety that 
 had been seated on their faces when first he marked 
 them. 
 
 " I knew that you would get home again, lad," 
 his father was saying heartily. " We were greatly 
 startled when we heard the news like the old 
 ninnies that we are ! Lily will be feeling awfully 
 confused with this noise and clatter. Where is your 
 porter ? Let us get the luggage into cabs at once, 
 and then we can walk leisurely towards the station." 
 
 From time to time the young wife was breaking 
 into rapturous exclamations. 
 
 "Oh, Frank, just look at those lovely horses! 
 What a shame to have them reined in so tightly ! 
 See that pretty little boy ! Is that the overhead 
 railway you have spoken about ? Oh, what a 
 terrible noise just like the breakers on Bassa Reef 
 during a heavy swell ! Is it like this all the time?" 
 
 " All the time except when the night is darkest, 
 and for a few brief hours on Sundays." 
 
 Mr. Benson had seen the boxes disposed, and 
 now sent the porter away with a handsome gratuity. 
 He was smiling as he listened to the happy prattle 
 of his new daughter, and occasionally glanced 
 approvingly at her. 
 
 " Come along, Frank, lad. Let us go. 1 should 
 like to be in Manchester for lunch. You seem to 
 have altered a little and for the better, too." He 
 
 214
 
 New Wonders 
 
 made these observations as they entered the streets. 
 There, without waiting for a reply, he monopolised 
 Lily and walked on in front. 
 
 "How full the streets seem to be!" said the girl, 
 as they stood on the curb of Lord Street, waiting 
 for a favourable opportunity to cross. 
 
 " Yes full to overflowing," replied Mr. Benson. 
 " One would sometimes feel inclined to wonder 
 that the horses don't ride over one another, and the 
 people get lost in the crowds ! " 
 
 She laughed gaily, and paused with a little gasp 
 before a large bookseller's window. Such a number 
 of books she had never seen before, even in dreams. 
 
 " Mr. Benson, what 
 
 " Call me father," he said promptly, and looked 
 at her smilingly as she clung to his arm. 
 
 " Father ... if you only knew how many years 
 I have longed to see a sight like this you would 
 understand why I feel so happy now. Look ! 
 There is Stanley Weyman's latest novel, and there 
 Anthony Hope's. . . ." 
 
 He was laughing at her enthusiasm. They 
 chattered merrily all the way to the station, and 
 thoroughly understood each other when at last they 
 stood on the platform. Frank had had a long and 
 tender talk with his mother, but his mood was 
 inclined to be heavy. 
 
 The moisture of the morning was still upon the 
 carriage windows, and he wiped it away with his 
 handkerchief. The train sped through the black 
 tunnels near Edge Hill, and Lily was delightfully 
 timid and dependent. Then they hurried on to a 
 high track from whence only orderly rows of roofs 
 and sturdy chimneys could be discerned. Anon 
 
 215
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 they had the fields and the streams, and yet again 
 the dull skyline and the murky streets. To Lily 
 everything was new and strange. She was in an 
 ecstasy of silence. Before they reached Manchester, 
 and after the first awe of the rapid motion had worn 
 off from the girl's mind, they were laughing to- 
 gether at the panorama. From the station to Eldon 
 Green was only a short journey, and Lily's cry of 
 delight when she saw the little house, embowered 
 in leaves and flowers, made the elder woman lean 
 forward and impulsively kiss her. 
 
 Over lunch they were very quiet. The young 
 wife sat by her husband's side, and her eyes glistened 
 as they met his. 
 
 " I feel so happy, Frank," she said softly. 
 
 u That is good, Lily. Is it because you are 
 enjoying your first day in England ? " 
 
 " I don't think that is it altogether. Perhaps 
 because you are all so kind to me." She dropped 
 her head with a blush ; they seemed to understand, 
 and Mr. Benson refilled her glass with claret. 
 
 " Why is it that you are all so kind to me ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Because it has always been the way," replied 
 Mr. Benson banteringly. " Woman needs the 
 protection of man, and man requires the defence 
 of woman." 
 
 She lifted her head with a smile. " At any rate, 
 that renders the relation of certain members of the 
 sexes exclusive, and saves the general community a 
 great deal of trouble," she said. 
 
 After the meal Mrs. Benson led her upstairs to 
 rest, and the father and son were left to their 
 cigars. Frank opened out his plans, and declared 
 
 216
 
 New Wonders 
 
 his intention of returning to Liberia after a rest of 
 two or three months. He promised to make 
 Manchester his home eventually. And the elder 
 man heartily approved. The home-tie, the bond 
 between town and citizen, country and patriot, is 
 the dearest of the heart's affections. God pity 
 that man who has seen so much of the world that 
 he knows not where to fix his final abode ! The 
 mortal who declares that he has no home must be 
 on the brink of beggary and hell ; for the home 
 alone is the source of character. Round the hearth 
 is secretly sown the seed that must fructify in 
 public ; and men are what their wives and mothers 
 make them. 
 
 Thoughts of this kind were in Frank's brain. 
 " Yes, I will make my home here after a few more 
 years in Bassa," he said. 
 
 It was on the following Saturday that Lily 
 visited the theatre for the first time. The days 
 between had been full of incident visits to the 
 city centres, the art galleries, the museums, the 
 colleges, the libraries. " I have seen nearly all 
 now," she sighed, " and the surprise of everything 
 has been so beautiful. But," with a delightful 
 upward glance, " you can take me to them all over 
 again, Frank." 
 
 He shook his head in mock reproof. " To-night 
 you shall see the crowning wonder." He turned 
 the leaves of the Guardian briskly. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked, her eyes full 
 of eagerness. 
 
 "Courtney has staged A Midsummer Night's Dream 
 at the Prince's, and we will go to-night. Shall it 
 be a box or the stalls ? " 
 
 217
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried in a transport. " The stalls. 
 I have never yet been inside a theatre, nor do I 
 know what it can be like. Thank you, Frank. It 
 will be splendid." 
 
 She sat the whole night with her hand in his, 
 happy, delighted, and sometimes a little afraid. 
 The fairy scenes amazed her with their brilliancy, 
 and she could not conceive how such intricate 
 scenery was manipulated with the rapidity and ease 
 evidenced. Her laughter at the antics of Bottom 
 and his companions were both spontaneous and 
 contagious. Many people looked round at her 
 gleaming eyes, and smiled in sympathy. It was to 
 her the most perfect night she had ever spent. 
 They went home in a hansom, and her mind was 
 still bemused by the music and the light, the gay 
 dresses and the gaudy scenes. She was humming 
 little snatches of Puck's songs, and even when 
 sleep had fallen across her eyes she yet murmured 
 words of wonder and delight. 
 
 And so the honeymoon slipped by. The en- 
 thusiasm of Lily wa-s infectious, and Frank was 
 soon equally as much enamoured of the noises 
 and the crowds from which he had fled two years 
 before. He took her into the busiest parts of 
 the city, and especially after dark. The twink- 
 ling lights and the busy hum of the traffic 
 entranced her. Sometimes they would dine at the 
 Queen's Hotel, and stand at the window of 
 their room always on the upper floors looking 
 out. Towards the suburbs all would be dark; but 
 from the district of the theatres and restaurants, 
 the large shops and the wine lodges, would arise 
 a glare into the sky, bright, ruddy, palpitant. 
 
 218
 
 New Wonders 
 
 Here and there were electric bulbs flashing out an 
 advertisement in letters of emphatic white and 
 crimson. The trams and cabs would hurry by with 
 little starry eyes of red and green, while, restlessly, 
 ceaselessly, on the pavements flocked the people, 
 like tiny ants, minute, eager, scurrying. The night 
 noises were not individual. From below came one 
 great note, vast and deep, the mingling of them all 
 the stir of life, the breathing of movement, the 
 onward rush of labour. Tired of their observa- 
 tions, but tingling with the glamour of it all, the 
 young people would at last retire to the table and 
 the wine, leaving the window still open to the 
 night. 
 
 Frank's views had always been democratic, and 
 Lily was quite unconventional. During the course 
 of these weeks they found themselves in many 
 strange places ; and the girl could claim to have 
 seen more than a little of the seamy side of town 
 life. A fortnight they spent in London and three 
 weeks in Paris. At the cafes chantants Lily saw 
 that women of the most apparent respectability 
 were decidedly free in their speech and gesture. 
 But she passed through all with a laugh, quite 
 unharmed. 
 
 There came a day when the gay city was dressed 
 for a great occasion. The President was to receive 
 a foreign prince, and the moment was one of great 
 rejoicing. Confetti rained through the air. The 
 lusty ouvriers and the sprightly bonnes, the scented 
 beaux and the elegant femmes, filled the air with 
 laughter. They had seats above a bank in one of 
 the large thoroughfares. Lily was greatly interested. 
 But her husband was quick to notice that the 
 
 219
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 pageant itself pleased her but little. Her whole 
 attention was centred in the crowds below ; and he 
 almost felt, with her, that it would have been more 
 enjoyable down there on the pavement amid the 
 scurry and the humour, than here, seated in isolated 
 ease, at ten francs a head. 
 
 Some mornings they spent in the Quartier Latin, 
 and the girl would watch the little assemblies of 
 students enjoying a fonche with undisguised 
 wonder. On one brilliant day early in November, 
 brisk and pure, Frank suggested a slight improve- 
 ment in the bizarre sketch that was flourished 
 before them as they sauntered by. At once they 
 found themselves invited to join the party. The 
 youthful Frenchmen were very droll in their 
 pessimistic jollity ; and Lily laughed as they 
 mimicked the English manner for her edification. 
 She spoke excellent French, an acquirement learned 
 from her father, and her dark skin half convinced 
 the artists that she belonged to their race. A bright 
 light had come into her eyes, and her cheeks were 
 flushed. Frank thought she had never looked 
 prettier ; and he felt proud of her, as of a child 
 whom much indulgence had failed to spoil. 
 
 They returned home rather tired of their dis- 
 sipations, and not sorry for the change. The 
 midnight journey between London and Manchester 
 reminded Frank forcibly of the day when he had 
 left England in disgust. Then he had been more 
 than glad to leave his native city. Now he ques- 
 tioned vaguely whether or not his joy at returning 
 to his accustomed place could be a permanent one. 
 He looked across at his wife, and his mind was 
 made up. This feverish atmosphere had pleased 
 
 220
 
 New Wonders 
 
 her because it was new and strange ; but Liberia 
 was her natural sphere : " Lily o' the Fields." 
 Even when he had suggested returning to Grand 
 Bassa at the earlier stages of their arrival he in- 
 wardly doubted the wisdom of the thought. Now 
 there could be no possible doubt nor hesitation. 
 
 It was an exquisite morning, sparkling, invigorat- 
 ing. The sun shone tepidly, and a baby wind 
 stirred the white clouds that hung high above them. 
 Manchester looked bright and clean, newly washed 
 by a rain of the morning, and there was only a 
 suggestion of winter in the costumes of the pas- 
 sengers on the pavements. 
 
 u Next week we will return to Liberia," he said. 
 
 For a moment she looked at him in blank amaze; 
 then she smiled wistfully. She did not dream of 
 running counter to his wishes. "As you will, 
 Frank. We have had a very pleasant time." 
 
 And Frank pleased himself with the sophistry 
 that the girl was tired of town life. " She will be 
 happier among her own people," he thought. 
 
 221
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 GROPING 
 
 " There is a poison which is harmless to the carrier, but 
 deadly to all others " 
 
 F ILY was loth to part with her English friends. 
 Her eyes dwelt upon the streets as the cab 
 rattled towards the station, with a regret that all her 
 smiles could not disguise. Frank watched her with 
 a strange feeling of unrest. But he did not remark 
 in any way upon her evident sorrow. 
 
 He had purchased a parcel of new novels for her 
 from Christie's, and she tried to absorb herself in 
 them until Liverpool was reached. Not until their 
 surplus luggage had been placed in the hold of the 
 steamer, and the other boxes had been sent into 
 their cabin, did she make any expression of regret. 
 As they stood together near the bridge she sighed. 
 
 " Are you sorry to say good-bye to England ? " 
 Frank asked. 
 
 She looked at him closely before she replied. 
 
 " No," she said hesitatingly. " But ... I cannot 
 tell. Perhaps I am." 
 
 The day had broken dully, and it was not until 
 the afternoon that Lily could dispel her melancholy. 
 Meantime her husband had failed to observe her 
 increased dejection. He was engrossed with the 
 
 222
 
 Groping 
 
 view before him. The hazy mist was lifting in 
 columns of intensest green from the shore, and the 
 deep blue of the ocean, as it glimmered under 
 the warming sun, filled him with a deep satisfac- 
 tion. Again farewell to England ! He was going 
 back to the land of rest : where all his passions and 
 desires would lie in a delicious swoon of con- 
 tentment. 
 
 At Freetown they spent two happy days. Viewed 
 in the light of his present knowledge of affairs 
 West African, the English colony appeared to far 
 better advantage than it had done on the occasion 
 of his maiden voyage. He enjoyed the primitive 
 difficulties of the hotel with infinite zest. "The 
 one un-English aspect of the place," he said, with a 
 laugh. "One would think that the Government, 
 which can supply railways and a market, would find 
 funds to build an hotel." 
 
 It was in the grey dawn that they sighted Grand 
 Bassa. The rocks loomed in the distance, and Lily 
 hung over the side until she saw the boats leave 
 the shore. " There is one of our gigs, Frank 
 just behind the mail-boat. Don't you see it 
 painted white and red ? And look ! Mr. Wrigley 
 is in the stern." 
 
 As the boat came nearer she waved her hand to 
 him, and the agent answered with a cheery cry of 
 good morning. Then he ostensibly urged the boys 
 to greater effort, for they leaned back lustily on 
 their oars, singing the while one of their quaint 
 native songs. To Frank's ears the faint dialect 
 sounded strangely sweet, and he listened eagerly to 
 the words : " Massa Benson has come back, and he 
 bring our little mammie to her home, to her home." 
 
 223
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " My dear Frank," said Mr. Wrigley, as he 
 ascended the ladder, " I'm glad to see you back 
 again. The change has brightened you up im- 
 mensely. And how is Mrs. Benson ? Why, you're 
 looking as fresh as the morning." 
 
 Lily laughed, and they were soon in the midst 
 of a conversation that covered a multitude of 
 subjects. And how was the paper progressing ? 
 asked Frank. Sturdily. Better Things had met 
 with a good reception, and already the people 
 were speaking of it as a bold and original 
 venture. Curiosity had been aroused, and the 
 expenses of printing were being covered, with a 
 fair margin for purposes of extension and improve- 
 ment. 
 
 It had been in the late spring of 19 that 
 Frank Benson came to Grand Bassa. It was now 
 late November in the following year, and he was 
 widely known in the country. The agent produced 
 the last issue of their joint venture. As editress, 
 Mrs. Wrigley had announced through its columns a 
 series of lectures for the evenings of the African 
 summer months, ending in April, 19 . The names 
 were certainly convincing : Doctor A. P. Camphor, 
 of Monrovia ; Bishop Ferguson ; Frank Benson, 
 Esq. ; Ralph Wrigley, Esq. ; John Summerton, 
 jun., Esq. ; Mrs. Kenney Wrigley ; and other 
 distinguished people. 
 
 And the list of subjects was as diversified as 
 modern : " The Negro at Home," " Fiction in 
 History," "Business Life as a Moral Teacher," 
 " Art in the Modern Drama," " The Immortality 
 of Verse," " Ruskin as a Force." The change in 
 Grand Bassa was pronounced indeed ! 
 
 224
 
 Groping 
 
 Frank felt a new emotion of interest as the boat 
 neared the shore. There was a large assembly of 
 boys in the yard, and they enthusiastically hailed 
 the return of Benson and his wife. When they 
 had entered the house, and while Lily was busy 
 with her experiences in the bedroom with Mrs. 
 Wrigley and Maggie, he overhauled his boxes and 
 arranged his books and papers in the old accus- 
 tomed places. His agent had evidently taken some 
 pains to render the room more suited to the 
 requirements of the young people, and Frank 
 looked round him in great pleasure. 
 
 During the next few days he found that the old 
 place had been besieged with a vengeance. Better 
 Things appeared with a regularity unusual to 
 Liberian periodicals, and in the interests of the 
 paper ! Jack Summerton was a regular visitor to 
 the house. It was noticeable that Maggie Wrigley 
 and he sat together on these occasions, and that his 
 column of local news received a great deal of 
 attention at her hands. 
 
 One night Frank was sitting out on the piazza 
 with his agent. The voices of the two girls could 
 be heard talking merrily inside, and soon Lily 
 appeared at the door. He raised his eyes, and 
 smiled delightedly. She had attired herself in the 
 old dress of white, with its scarlet sash and open 
 throat. Her hair fell around her shoulders in 
 ripples, and she looked at him out of eyes 
 sparkling with fun. He took her hand gently 
 in his. 
 
 " This is home again indeed, Lily," he said. 
 
 She looked down, and played with the fringe of 
 her sash. 
 
 P 225
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " It is too childish now, Frank," she said, with 
 a laugh and a tear. " I am a staid married woman. 
 This is the last time that I shall wear it." 
 
 The days passed happily just now. There was 
 no need of special occupation at the factory, as the 
 lull between the seasons was approaching. The 
 young people wandered over the country, Frank 
 and Lily in advance, and Maggie and Jack 
 Summerton behind. There were many houses at 
 which to call, innumerable people to greet after the 
 honeymoon absence, scores of favourite spots to 
 visit. Frank thought that he had never known 
 such unalloyed happiness since his childhood. 
 
 Old Summerton spent a week-end at the Atlantic 
 House early in December. He had called to 
 remind Frank of the proposed visit into the 
 interior. Clayton intended joining the party, and 
 was to meet them at Baddy Town, fifteen miles 
 along the Heldonsville Road. There were to be 
 only four in the expedition Summerton, Benson, 
 Clayton, and Prince Kammok. 
 
 When Frank heard the name of Kammok he 
 was considerably surprised, and a little afraid. 
 
 " Kammok ! " he said. " Is he not brother to the 
 dead girl Sarnie, of Veytown ? " 
 
 "Just so," replied Summerton. "He is an 
 excellent shot, and he has always joined me in 
 previous years." 
 
 " But, Clayton," urged Benson, " is there no 
 danger of a rupture ? " 
 
 " I hardly think so. The affair is almost for- 
 gotten now." 
 
 And Frank had perforce to be content. The 
 expedition was to start on the 2oth of December, 
 
 226
 
 Groping 
 
 and he determined to enjoy the few days left to 
 him before his departure. From England he had 
 just received a box of books and photographs. 
 Lily was absent when these arrived. Since her 
 challenge to him just before they sailed from 
 Grand Bassa she had been strangely silent about 
 literary matters. Beyond reading his stray articles 
 and poems in Better Things she had not once 
 referred to his work. He opened the case with 
 a feeling of indifference, and lined his shelves. 
 But Lily's examination of their room upon her 
 return from Buchanan was one succession of little 
 cries of delight and surprise. Hardy, Meredith, 
 James, Seton-Merriman, Hope, Zangwill, Malet ! 
 " Oh, Frank, to think that you did not take me 
 to see your publishers, nor one of your literary 
 friends, while we were in London ! " she cried. 
 Then breathlessly, " You have here all the books 
 that I shall ever want to read." 
 
 Soon she hovered between the little volumes of 
 poetry, and took down the last book of verse from 
 the pen of Edmund Gosse. 
 
 " I remember seeing an adverse review of this 
 in the Spectator" she said. 
 
 "And I do not suppose that Gosse minded 
 much," he said. Then he began to refer to a 
 passage in one of his own little volumes : " I like 
 to believe that my words are met with disapproval 
 sometimes, and 1 should cease to write if everyone 
 held my views. We shall not all think alike " 
 
 " Until we all cease to think." 
 
 She finished the quotation with a glance of shy 
 confession. 
 
 " You have read Musings ? " he asked. 
 227
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " Yes, I read them over a year ago." 
 
 " But I had no copies here." 
 
 " You silly boy ! Could I love you and not 
 read what you had written ? I ordered all your 
 books from London." 
 
 To cover the amazement on his face she took up 
 a photo of Richard le Gallienne. " The beau-ideal 
 of a poet. Have you any of his books here ? " 
 He lifted English Poems down for her, and with 
 quick perception she read one or two of the shorter 
 pieces. " Fantastic, but keen in perception." Then 
 she took down one of Katharine Tynan Hinkson's 
 volumes, and read with great delight : 
 
 " All day long in exquisite air 
 The song clomb an invisible stair . . . 
 I saw no staircase winding, winding, 
 Into the glory sapphire and blinding, 
 But all day long. . . ." 
 
 "Oh, Frank, what delicate imagery! I can just 
 imagine what she must be like, a little fragile 
 woman, all hair and eyes." 
 
 With a laugh he handed her a signed photo- 
 graph. She looked at it for a moment, then uttered 
 a sigh of dismay and disappointment. 
 
 " My dear Lily, at an early stage in an artistic 
 or literary career one must learn to recognise the 
 fact that appearance has little to do with pro- 
 duction. Remember Swinburne, and sigh not to 
 see the faces of the people whom you have learned 
 to love through the medium of their books." 
 
 He talked with her banteringly as they passed 
 from picture to picture. And after she had joined 
 Mrs. Wrigley and Maggie on the piazza he took 
 
 228
 
 Groping 
 
 out the manuscript of his almost forgotten novel 
 with a new-born interest. He must continue his 
 task. Lily was indeed a muse worthy to be 
 worshipped, and her inspiration of inestimable 
 value. He placed the sheets before him and began 
 to write. The last few sentences were peculiarly 
 pleasing, and he found that all his former dilemmas 
 had disappeared. He wrote easily and briskly, and 
 more than a dozen sheets of closely written manu- 
 script lay upon his desk when the first bell rang 
 for dinner. 
 
 " You have been working, Frank ? " asked the 
 agent, as he passed the soup. 
 
 "A little," he replied deprecatingly. 
 
 " We have your copy in the formes for the next 
 two issues of our paper. Is it a new story ? " 
 
 " The old one," said Frank, with a laugh. 
 
 "I am so glad," exclaimed Lily. "I want to 
 see you at work again. And this story is to make 
 you famous, remember." 
 
 He missed her sorely after the meal. She 
 evidently deemed his work of great importance, 
 and after arranging his lamp and papers, left him 
 alone. His eagerness for production had gone. 
 Her voice came to him in happy snatches from the 
 large room, and he listened with his pen idly 
 clasped between his fingers. 
 
 229
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 LITERARY GROWTH IN AN 
 UNLITERARY MAN 
 
 " Inspect the environment of thy life, and expect to see surprising 
 phenomena " 
 
 Contributed to " Better Things " by Ralph Wrigtey 
 
 England principally has fallen the task of 
 civilising the dark races of the earth; and the 
 work would have been an easier and more pleasing 
 one if it were certain that the natives brought 
 under the regime of our culture would remain 
 civilised. But that they do not, regrettable as the 
 statement may appear, is a long proven fact. We 
 never know whether immediately the pressure of 
 white influence is withdrawn there will not be a 
 revulsion towards lower ideals, or even in some 
 cases a return to savagery. In a thoughtful essay 
 the late Grant Allen maintained that the tendency 
 towards retrogression in the negro races was very 
 strongly marked, and he inclined to the belief that 
 under no circumstances could the black man be 
 thoroughly and permanently grounded in white 
 refinement. One can imagine what the with- 
 drawal of English control would be in our 
 West African colonies. The educated natives, 
 now so highly polished, would sink back to their 
 
 230
 
 Literary Growth in Unliterary Man 
 
 ancient level ; slowly maybe, but with none the 
 less of sureness. 
 
 " India is a case in point. Such acute observers 
 as Rudyard Kipling and Flora Annie Steel have 
 often expressed their belief in the inherent strength 
 of native customs, and it is to be doubted whether, 
 if the English retreated, there would be left any 
 trace of our dominion twenty or thirty years from 
 now. The missionaries declare that they dare not 
 remove their presence, and native pastors are wont 
 to introduce Buddhist teachings into their sermons. 
 The people themselves are keenly watching the 
 phenomena of the passing years, and it is unswerv- 
 ingly believed that this alien rule is a mere passing 
 cloud upon their horizon, permitted that Hindoo- 
 ism may ultimately shine with the more resplendent 
 lustre. 
 
 "The negro is very imitative. So much indeed 
 has this been demonstrated to the writer since his 
 first visit to West Africa, half a lifetime ago, that 
 he has often been inclined to mistrust the mental 
 status of his black contemporaries. But so appar- 
 ently consistent have been the works of many of 
 the most gifted of the Liberians, whom he knows 
 intimately, that he has finally been persuaded that 
 this vast sense of conceit can be eliminated. The 
 abnormal vanity of the superficially educated negro 
 is a factor which sorely excites and irritates the 
 judgment of the white man. Excesses in dress 
 and jewellery, and a swaggering gait which is not 
 innocent, because it is aggressive, are traits which 
 spoil the best of characters. 
 
 " There can be no denial of the tendency of the 
 native to go back to his ancient gods, to revert to 
 
 231
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 savagery, after learning something of civilisation. 
 When Grant Allen wrote his inimitable story of 
 the Rev. John Crowdy, I was in touch with him, 
 and supplied him with the outline of the narrative. 
 It was heartily criticised and condemned as an 
 absurd exaggeration. But return to barbarism of 
 a negro after long association with the enlighten- 
 ment of good society has been repeated scores of 
 times. 
 
 " Perhaps a story from my own experience will 
 illustrate my suggestions. The thinness of surface 
 civilisation is liberally shown amongst natives of the 
 West Coast of Africa who are taken in hand for the 
 purposes of education by white residents. Ten 
 years ago I returned to England for a vacation, and 
 carried with me from Grand Bassa a native boy 
 of fourteen years of age. He was a handsome 
 little fellow with bright eyes and an intelligent face. 
 We sent him to school, and my wife bestowed 
 much attention upon him. Among other acquire- 
 ments he mastered the early rudiments of music, 
 of which he was passionately fond, and learned to 
 play with great feeling upon the organ. He quickly 
 gained the knowledge of how to read and write. At 
 table we sometimes indulge in French, and of this 
 language he managed to learn sufficient to carry on 
 an easy conversation. He appeared to be eagerly fond 
 of verse, and although he could form only a very 
 vague idea of the lines, he would pore over Long- 
 fellow and Shelley with most commendable earnest- 
 ness. He proved to be an excellent playmate, 
 became very popular with the other boys, and was 
 not once proved guilty of treachery or dishonesty. 
 His early amazement at the marvels of * white 
 
 232
 
 Literary Growth in Unliterary Man 
 
 man's things ' gave way to an easy nonchalance, and 
 six months after his arrival in England he had 
 adapted himself thoroughly to the conditions of his 
 environment and rarely mentioned his home. 
 
 "After a residence in London and Manchester of 
 just over a year I returned to the coast, and carried 
 Benny with me. For a fortnight I remained in 
 Sierra Leone among friends, and while there the 
 black boy remained patiently by my side, and 
 showed no impatience to reach Liberia. Then a 
 party of negroes arrived who were bound for 
 Monrovia, and I continued the voyage. In due 
 course we reached Grand Bassa. A few miles away 
 in the bush Benny's tribe lived, and for several 
 weeks after our arrival he held no communication 
 with them. Meanwhile he had settled down in the 
 house as steward, and seemed quite happy. 
 
 "At last he asked for a holiday that he might 
 visit his people. I willingly let him go. His kins- 
 men must have claimed some part in his prosperity, 
 for he carried with him all the treasures acquired 
 during his long stay in England. After an absence 
 of six weeks he returned empty. 
 
 "And here comes the strange part of the story. 
 Although books were placed in his way, and he was 
 offered all the advantages peculiar to his intimacy 
 with myself and my wife, he gradually took on the 
 looseness of country customs. Education to him 
 would seem to have been a garment which he could 
 throw away at will. Within three months of his 
 return to Bassa Benny was thoroughly degenerate. 
 He ended his career by robbing the safe and 
 escaping into the bush. 
 
 "This is only one of many instances which 
 233
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 I might cite from actual experience, and is an 
 amazing and convincing instance of the strength 
 of racial instincts. At times I have almost 
 despaired. 
 
 " What are the causes of such reversions ? Per- 
 haps the strongest motive is the passion for change 
 that inherent restlessness which shows itself in 
 the constant flow of natives from the interior to 
 the coast towns. Another is the hatred of restraint 
 the instinct to throw off the burden of self- 
 control and obedience to social conventions. Then 
 there is the influence of native law, curiously 
 opposed to white practices, and wide-reaching in 
 its power. All these operations brought into one 
 heavy focus derange the cultured life of the emanci- 
 pated native, and thrust him back into barbarism 
 and ignorance. The man who has not the careful 
 training of centuries in endurance and resistance is 
 hopelessly involved in the presence of old tempta- 
 tions. 
 
 " The object of all teaching is to produce a type, 
 and this type is meant to be a copy of the teacher. 
 The object of our training of the negro is to make 
 manifest a higher culture among them, and this 
 culture must be ours. But we must walk slowly. 
 As our young friend Frank Benson remarked in his 
 eloquent address a few weeks ago, it will need many 
 generations to convert the native tribes of Liberia 
 to either Christianity or civilisation. We must re- 
 member that they are born with strong inherited 
 tendencies towards vice, and are ever under a 
 system of fetish which is totally at variance with 
 our religion and manners. It will need strenuous 
 effort on our part to make of the descendants of 
 
 234
 
 Literary Growth in Unliterary Man 
 
 barbarians and cannibals a race of Christians and 
 gentlemen. 
 
 "And let us be just. Why should we expect an 
 educated negro to be so much better than an in- 
 structed European ? It needs years for the acorn 
 to fructify into the spreading oak. We must be as 
 patient as Nature is in her workings, for all growth 
 is gradual. Remember, the fruitage atones for the 
 long hours during which we watched impatiently 
 the gradual budding of the leaves." 
 
 235
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ONE PASSES 
 " Oh, sweet and bitter in a breath ! " 
 
 laugh," said Mr. Wrigley, " in the warm 
 security of our drawing-room at the idea of 
 a spirit world. But one's ideas undergo a change 
 after a few nights among the mysterious noises of 
 the bush. The crocodiles send out their whining 
 cry, ending in a hoarse groan or a snarling sniff. 
 There is the cough of the leopard, and ever the 
 sweeping rush of the bats and the flying foxes." 
 
 They were talking of the proposed journey into 
 the interior. The expedition was to start that 
 morning. Prince Kammok had arrived with his 
 boys on the previous afternoon. His equipment 
 of guns was the admiration of the agent, who 
 would have joined the party with avidity had the 
 opportunity offered. The Vey man looked every 
 inch the son of a king. He was fully six feet in 
 height, and his shoulders and arms were those of a 
 giant. 
 
 Fortunately Clayton met them at the appointed 
 place, so there was no delay. After six days' 
 travelling they arrived at a place called Pahya, and 
 a day later passed Tola, which Summerton had de- 
 cided should be about the point of their destination. 
 
 236
 
 One Passes 
 
 They hurried through the town, and halted in a 
 clearing some fifteen miles further on. Here they 
 built their tent, fixed up primitive seats, and pre- 
 pared to make the place their home for an indefinite 
 period. 
 
 The whole great country for miles around was 
 without population and virginal to its Maker ; but 
 as Frank stood on one of the mounds and watched 
 the reddening sky, on the first night of the camp, 
 no chilly sense of loneliness struck upon his soul. 
 He drew instead a mighty breath of enjoyment. 
 " If only this were an English colony ! Heavens ! 
 Give to Britain but the vast interior of Liberia, and 
 what could she not make of it and her colonists ? 
 Here is space healthy, ample, lucrative." 
 
 The last glorious quiver of the sun faded from 
 the bush, and the far hills took on a purple hue. 
 Benson descended from his elevation and sought 
 the camp. He found the fire well lit and his 
 companions talking pleasantly as they squatted 
 round the blaze. He had discovered from scraps 
 of conversation with Kammok that he was a perfect 
 after-dinner talker. He possessed the gift of those 
 who live in the open air and are constantly on the 
 move the command of voice modulation, gesture, 
 and an air of sincerity. 
 
 He was now relating how, while he was a student 
 at Sierra Leone, he had acted as hammock-bearer 
 for a few weeks. His experiences were amusing. 
 Then suddenly he spoke of his return voyage to 
 Bassa, and of a storm that had overtaken them 
 midway, "like night before the dawn." His 
 voice was weird, and his hands were outstretched 
 blindly. " As black as the devil. And, before the 
 
 237
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 blast came, as quiet as the grave. The water could 
 be heard washing the sides of the ship like the 
 murmuring of a crowd and nothing more. This 
 for two hours. Engines stopped." His hands 
 were spread in deprecation, and his voice rose. 
 " Then came the tornado. I tell you, boys, that 
 steamer rocked like a cradle, and the darkness 
 did not lift an inch." He paused comprehen- 
 sively. 
 
 Frank saw that this was an invitation to ques- 
 tion him. " And you came out all right ? " 
 
 Kammok looked at the fire for some minutes ; 
 then he answered. " Man overboard ! I was lean- 
 ing over the rail, and saw him lurch from the 
 upper deck. How the wind howled ! A sudden 
 splash, and then a gurgle or two. I saw his white 
 face. The captain screamed out orders that were 
 never obeyed, and the man struggled in the surf." 
 
 " He was drowned ? " The blood of all ran 
 cold at the realistic voice in its mode of description. 
 
 " Yes. We reached Grand Bassa after three 
 days." 
 
 The native stooped over the fire. The shifting 
 light showed up fitfully upon the faces of the little 
 party of four. Clayton yawned. Summerton pulled 
 out his watch. " Suppose we retire," he suggested. 
 Frank welcomed the interruption. Soon they were 
 all wrapped in their blankets within the tent, and 
 sleeping soundly. 
 
 So the days passed in waiting. Through the 
 hours of light they hunted deer, or lounged in the 
 clearing. Benson possessed more of the hunter's 
 than the sportsman's desires. He did not care 
 to kill for the mere sake of killing. The first 
 
 238
 
 One Passes 
 
 instinct is the human and natural one one that 
 must assert itself, the need of searching for food. 
 But this appetite is appeased when sufficiency is 
 attained. The sportsman's wishes, however, are 
 insatiable. He kills because of the joy realised 
 in the act of killing. So Frank looked forward 
 to the elephant hunt with some degree of aversion ; 
 but meantime he killed deer and pigeons with a 
 delight that he had never until now deemed possible 
 to him. 
 
 Their camp was ten days old before a herd 
 watered near them. Frank was startled from sleep 
 by a crashing noise in the jungle near by. In 
 the soundless midnight air the noise seemed tre- 
 mendous. He roused his companions, and they 
 lay acutely awake. It was too dark to attempt 
 hunting. They waited for developments, starting 
 occasionally as a shrill trumpeting penetrated to 
 them. Shortly before daybreak the herd moved 
 away, but they were startled at breakfast by an 
 unwonted crash beyond the clearing. 
 
 An elephant fight was in progress, and the only 
 course open to our friends was to await results. A 
 combat between these huge beasts will last for days 
 if the two be well matched. The beaten beast 
 retreats temporarily, and is leisurely followed 
 by the other, until by mutual consent they meet 
 again. 
 
 The weaker elephant was now hiding in the bush 
 near the camp, but Summerton's experience told 
 him that the best policy would be to wait for the 
 oppressor to approach, as he would be followed by 
 a number of friends. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon of Friday that a shrill 
 239
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 trumpeting and crashing of trees broke the silence. 
 They knew that the fight had begun again. Before 
 they could reach for their rifles and hurry from 
 the tent the younger elephant, uttering deep roars 
 of pain, charged across the clearing. In sheer fury 
 he began to destroy the bush. From a deep stab 
 in his side the blood was streaming. He had 
 magnificent tusks, and the old trader's eyes gleamed 
 as he looked at them. By this time the whole 
 party had armed themselves and were grouped 
 near the tent door. Suddenly there was a change 
 in the animal's demeanour. He had scented 
 them. 
 
 An angry elephant is afraid of neither man nor 
 beast. The wounded animal backed into the open 
 space and stood like a statue. The next moment 
 he flung up his tail, waved his trunk restlessly, and 
 bore down upon the tent with wonderful speed. 
 His rage was manifest. Ten yards ofF he paused. 
 
 The arrangement was that Prince Kammok 
 should have the honour of the first shot. Clayton 
 was nearest to the beast, and Frank glanced im- 
 patiently over his shoulder at the native, mentally 
 inquiring why he did not fire. There was a 
 peculiar look of mingled hope and hate on his face. 
 Frank was puzzled. The elephant would perhaps 
 require three or four bullets before he could be 
 safely despatched, and any moment he might 
 charge. 
 
 Summerton moved unquietly. The Englishman 
 was in danger, and Kammok's delay might result 
 in his death. Then he gripped Frank's arm. The 
 other elephant had appeared on the edge of the 
 clearing, and was approaching Clayton from behind. 
 
 240
 
 One Passes 
 
 It was the native's privilege to fire first, and to 
 protect the one in front of him from any rear 
 attack. The elephant was within a few yards of 
 Clayton, and his danger was apparent. Still the 
 black made no move. 
 
 Then both Summerton and Benson sprang to 
 their feet and shouted. The rearward animal 
 retreated. At twelve yards they shot both barrels 
 into the wounded elephant. But even the four 
 shots were ineffectual. The smoke obscured the 
 air for a moment, and the elephant was upon them. 
 His tusks gleamed through the smoke with terrible 
 distinctness. They just had time to fall flat to save 
 themselves from being gored. His ponderous feet 
 did not injure them, although he passed within a 
 few inches of their bodies. As he sped along he 
 shrieked shrilly and crashed into the bush. The 
 whole of the herd was in instant commotion. Our 
 friends took up their stand against the tent, and 
 an hour later were in possession of twelve good 
 tusks. 
 
 Sarnie was not yet avenged. Kammok had failed. 
 
 Two evenings later Frank was returning from an 
 excursion in the hills. He walked slowly along the 
 narrow path, and reached the open piece of land, 
 upon which their tent had been fixed, about sun- 
 down. Everything was quiet. Evidently Sum- 
 merton was away stalking a deer for supper, and 
 Kammok and Clayton were enjoying themselves 
 somewhere in the bush. He built the fire, and 
 then sat down to await the return of his com- 
 panions. Soon Clayton and the native came over 
 the brow of the hill, and Frank saw that they had 
 been hunting. Both had rifles in the hollow of 
 
 Q 241
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 their left arms, and they looked tired and weary. 
 But they had no game. 
 
 The fire was lit, and as they sat by its side Frank 
 was instantly aware of a subtle fear. On Kammok's 
 face was a restless look of wickedness, that he 
 knew boded ill to someone. The features some- 
 times appeared the very incarnation of hate. Clay- 
 ton chatted volubly. He seemed in high spirits, 
 and all his conversation was reminiscent of the 
 period when first he came to Liberia. Several 
 times he mentioned laughingly the name of Sarnie, 
 the Vey girl. 
 
 " Come and have a game of cards," said the 
 native at length. Clayton readily accepted, and 
 Frank remained outside the tent to watch for 
 Summerton's return. 
 
 He was roused from a reverie by a sudden loud 
 exclamation of fear from inside the tent. He 
 sprang to his feet and confronted Kammok on 
 the threshold. The two men stood looking into 
 one another's eyes silently. The native had his 
 rifle on his arm. Then Frank, as in a dream, 
 heard himself cry, " Good God ! man, put down 
 the gun ! What do you mean to do ? " 
 
 The black's face hardened. " He robbed me of 
 my sister. He murdered her. I have waited 
 for this day for two years. Our tribe demand 
 revenge." 
 
 Frank made a futile effort to possess the gun. 
 
 " Go to the fire again, and I'll promise to put 
 away the rifle." 
 
 Benson retreated. Immediately Kammok re- 
 entered the tent, and through the door the English- 
 man saw something that haunted his dreams for 
 
 242
 
 One Passes 
 
 weeks. At the little folding-table, strewn with 
 playing-cards, sat Clayton. His hands were laid 
 flat upon his knees, his face was palsied with fear, 
 the jaw loose and trembling, and the eyeballs 
 starting. Three feet away the native pointed the 
 barrel of his rifle at the white man's head. 
 
 Then came a shot. Clayton's body fell sideways 
 to the ground, and as Frank ran forward in horror 
 the negro sped into the bush. Rage and dismay 
 held the young man dumb as he examined his 
 companion's heart. He was quite dead. Then 
 Frank plunged between the trees in the direction 
 taken by Kammok. But there was no path, and 
 he had to return. 
 
 And now Summerton came back with a plump 
 deer. The old trader was so unnerved and broken 
 when he heard what had happened that he pro- 
 nounced an immediate retreat to the beach to be 
 inevitable. And Frank was nothing loth. 
 
 Next morning, after burying Clayton, the two 
 men started. They were over a hundred miles 
 from home, but the journey could be performed 
 in four days. On the crest of the ridge they 
 paused and looked back at the place where they 
 had buried the Englishman. A little mound rose 
 in the middle of the clearing. On it they had 
 placed a few sticks "A. C." High in the sky 
 birds were careering gaily. The day was very 
 bright. The travellers turned resolutely away, 
 and started out sturdily for Buchanan. Sarnie's 
 wrongs were obliterated. 
 
 243
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 
 
 "The most prominent fool in the gospel narrative is a 
 restless capitalist " 
 
 quickly did the year draw to its close, 
 and the early January suns flushed Liberia 
 into a newer beauty of green and purple. Maggie 
 Wrigley and Jack Summerton had been married 
 over a month, and their little white house peeped 
 out of the bush midway between Buchanan and 
 the factory. 
 
 Frank lay ill through several weeks, and the 
 usual course of his life became to him a fragment, 
 a reminiscence. The helplessness of his position, 
 the enforced inaction, removed him to a distance 
 from all his old thoughts. For many days and 
 nights he was delirious, and babbled of Clayton's 
 death. Now he was a boy at school ; now a youth 
 eagerly learning the intricacies of the language of 
 which he yearned to be a prophet ; now a man, 
 eager, impetuous, yet withal restrained. The 
 repose that succeeded his wild combats with un- 
 seen powers, his constant cries against distressing 
 sights and weird experiences, was very welcome. 
 After the shock had passed, Frank occupied him- 
 self again with his pen, and his last volume of essays 
 had met with a success that appeared all the greater 
 
 244
 
 Misunderstandings 
 
 by reason of his long absence from home. His pub- 
 lishers sent him all the cuttings from the reviews, 
 and a new edition of his Musings had been called 
 for. An enterprising firm of magazine proprietors 
 old club friends asked him for a series of West 
 African stories, and they offered him a price not to 
 be despised. 
 
 Frank took his success quietly, but Lily was 
 more than delighted. She felt that the essays 
 owed their creation to Liberia, and when the 
 title-page revealed the words "To Lily," she 
 kissed her husband gratefully. Busy as he always 
 was, Frank could not be accused of being prolific. 
 He wrote with his accustomed attention to detail, 
 and his quiet mode of living was such that it would 
 have been pain to do less and joy to do more. 
 There was a growing pain in the thought, not- 
 withstanding, that Lily was gloating in secret over 
 his earnings. A mercenary spirit he disliked in- 
 tensely, and in one he loved it became unbearable. 
 He was a man who would have lived in bare 
 comfort, and died in luxury. Then he would 
 reprove himself Lily was just the kind of woman 
 to guide and control his finances. And surely she 
 was the least sordid of creatures. He was only 
 afraid lest she should misrepresent herself to idle 
 eyes. 
 
 " Lily, child, what does it matter whether I earn 
 little or much ? We have sufficient for our needs 
 in Grand Bassa." 
 
 " Grand Bassa ! It is always Grand Bassa ! " 
 
 And she turned on to the piazza with an im- 
 patient sigh. 
 
 January had ended, and the summer was very 
 245
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 hot. But there came a day when the rain poured 
 down in columns with only slight cessation. The 
 sun had suddenly darkened, and from the north a 
 cloud spread with astonishing rapidity, shrouding 
 the sea in curling mists and filling the town with 
 a pale, uncanny light. Everything seemed to be 
 waiting. Overhead the cloud hung like a huge 
 eagle, whose vast wings were fringed with crimson 
 fire. Then had come a low growl, angry, in- 
 sistent. The wind freshened, drifting from the 
 sea in sweet -smelling gusts. Then, as if the 
 heavens had opened their flood-gates suddenly, 
 the rain and wind came down a deluge, a tor- 
 nado. 
 
 The young people sat on the piazza, covered 
 from the rain, but open to the fury of the storm. 
 It was splendid, invigorating, exulting. Its reck- 
 less fury, its untamed force, thrilled and stimu- 
 lated. Everything was blotted out the sea, the 
 trees, the houses behind a wall of water. The 
 heavy drops pelted on the zinc roof in continued 
 clamour, as if a million castanets were playing in 
 concert. The thunder roared and echoed like the 
 guns of a score of battleships with loud reverber- 
 ation ; the lightning zigzagged in long, blinding 
 streaks ; the wind wailed like a soul in torment, 
 and the house shook under its force. It was 
 wonderful. Long residence in Liberia had re- 
 conciled Frank to these huge torrents of water, 
 and he loved to watch the grey and blue haze 
 upon the sea, and the wide, vaporous mists that 
 trembled on the bush. For a few moments the 
 sun would break through the clouds, and the wet 
 sands glistened splendidly in its rays, while the 
 
 246
 
 Misunderstandings 
 
 rain hung in diamond drops upon the trees. The 
 next day was damp, dull, heavy. Lily again re- 
 ferred to the magazine stories. 
 
 " Do you intend to accept the offer ?" she asked. 
 
 " I don't think so. I had almost forgotten the 
 matter, to tell you the truth. Perhaps I may, but 
 there are far more interesting things to attend to." 
 
 "And less lucrative. Think of the money, 
 Frank. What is the good of throwing away good 
 material ? Look at Belter Things. You give it of 
 your best for nothing ! Why contribute to the 
 Liberian press without any monetary recognition 
 of your services, when you can always demand a 
 good price for your matter in England ? " 
 
 " My dear child, I have told you that to make 
 money is not in the sphere of an author. He has 
 heavier responsibilities. He owes a duty to the 
 world a duty wider than that owing to self, or 
 those connected with self." 
 
 She looked at him with a curious expression. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " Not until the last page of a manuscript is 
 written and the ink has dried upon his pen does a 
 writer realise the wonder of his workmanship. 
 What matters it if the populace suddenly run after 
 a new name, and leave this latest work untouched ? 
 He will remember the long hours he has spent 
 over his sentences, the weary grind of mental 
 labour, the years of his life that have gone to build 
 up this structure of paper and ink * words like 
 unto tears ' and then he will be able to say, 
 ' Money or no money, popularity or no popularity, 
 at least I know I have done my best, and told them 
 the truth in the face of all convention.' ' 
 
 247
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " But that is no argument in favour of work 
 without payment," she said. 
 
 He gave a gesture of irritation. " Won't you 
 understand that I cannot work under the rule of 
 the magazine press ? I shall never exaggerate detail 
 and write sensational nonsense in order that my 
 bank-book may show a large credit balance. To 
 present the truth as I conceive it, through the best 
 medium available, and then to remain content with 
 the results that is the author's best and only real 
 reward." 
 
 The wind had veered round, and was now 
 blustering about the house, shaking the windows 
 angrily. The rain came down in gusts. " I want 
 you to accept this commission," she said, with re- 
 newed pertinacity. 
 
 " Aren't we rich enough, Lil ? I am sometimes 
 quite alarmed when I hear of my royalties. What 
 more can we need here, child ? We have happi- 
 ness, and home." 
 
 When Lily spoke again her voice was cold and 
 hard. " You call Grand Bassa home ! But why 
 need we make it so ? Surely we could be more 
 comfortable elsewhere. . . . But see, the rain has 
 ceased. Go away for a time, and come back with a 
 more rational view of things." 
 
 The clouds had driven seawards with a laugh of 
 white and red, and the sky looked dazzlingly pure. 
 Frank turned towards the wardrobe, and took down 
 a cap. 
 
 As he passed through the yard he looked back. 
 Lily's eyes were filled with tears, and she smiled 
 her parting rather woefully. She leaned over the 
 piazza-rail. " We can never have the same opinion 
 
 248
 
 Misunderstandings 
 
 about your profession, Frank," she cried more 
 brightly. Then she sat down and bent low over 
 her book. 
 
 The air was exquisite, and the freshness of the 
 morning filled him with a sense of relief. But his 
 enjoyment was not sincere, he felt, and when he 
 neared the native town he had made himself 
 poignantly miserable. If Lily and he could dis- 
 agree at this early stage about his work and the 
 question of the location of their home, what great 
 issues depended upon an immediate understanding! 
 His feet slipped in a slushy mire, and he stepped 
 hurriedly to one side as a Bassa cripple approached 
 him. The man's footless leg was swathed in green 
 leaves, and his face was half eaten away with a 
 loathsome disease. Frank passed into the more 
 open road. On either hand were the gigantic 
 palms and elms, vast, motionless, swathed in mist. 
 In the distance the hamlets looked grey and insipid, 
 and it was eerie to listen in the solitude to the 
 drip of the many waters that were trickling down 
 to the beach. Here met three or four small 
 rivulets ; there, a slimy stream fell into a depres- 
 sion forming a miniature pond. The whole of the 
 road was articulate. This was not Frank's first ex- 
 perience of the aftermath of a Liberian storm. He 
 turned home again, and met his agent on the lower 
 path, returning from one of the neighbouring 
 factories. 
 
 Mr. Wrigley delighted in desultory conversations 
 in the open air. He had often caught Frank on 
 his way to and from the post office and other local 
 places. For a time they talked of the improved 
 prices of produce, and then the agent exclaimed 
 
 249
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " I suppose it will be only a few months longer 
 that I shall remain your host, Frank." 
 
 " Oh ! Are you thinking of retiring ? I have 
 enjoyed your companionship so much that I am 
 afraid your successor will meet with a poor recep- 
 tion from me." 
 
 Wrigley laughed heartily, and looked at his 
 companion with humorous eyes. 
 
 " Retiring ! Why, my dear fellow, what should 
 an old man like me, with a daughter comfortably 
 married and settled here, and a wife in the best of 
 health, want with England ? " 
 
 "Are you going to die then," Frank asked in 
 the same tone of banter, but still in wonder. 
 
 " Not for many years, I hope." 
 
 " Then how am I to lose you as host ? " 
 
 The elder man ( placed his hand affectionately on 
 Benson's shoulder. 
 
 " I have been here twelve years now, Frank," he 
 said, "and during the whole of that time I have 
 never had a holiday. Times innumerable I have 
 had attacks of fever, but God has been very good 
 to me. Since Maggie has married into a negro 
 family I have felt more and more convinced that 
 Bassa should be my real home. Remember, lad, 
 I have been on the West Coast of Africa for the 
 greater part of my life, and the rush and worry of 
 existence in England does not attract me. Of 
 course, I might buy a little farm in some unfre- 
 quented country place in the northern counties : 
 but I should miss always the black faces to which 
 I have grown so thoroughly accustomed." 
 
 He paused and slackened his pace. 
 
 " Now with you," he continued, " it is entirely 
 
 250
 
 Misunderstandings 
 
 different. Both Lily and yourself are quite Euro- 
 pean in culture ; and I have noticed lately an 
 increasing restlessness in your wife's demeanour. 
 You will not remain with me much longer, Frank. 
 England is calling you. I only hope you won't 
 forget us altogether when you are so far away. 
 We have all grown fond of you, and there is a mail 
 every fortnight remember." 
 
 Frank moved restlessly. It was palpable that his 
 agent knew more of Lily's desires than he himself 
 had been able to observe. A hot expostulation 
 was in his mind, but he hesitated before speaking. 
 
 " There is no reason why we should change at 
 present. I don't think that Lily's present restless- 
 ness can be permanent. She wants a holiday. Of 
 course, my wife talks a great deal of England. 
 Who can wonder when everything appeared so 
 new, so wonderful, and so strange to her ? But 
 whatever fancy may possess her mind at present, 
 I am sure that she would ardently long for Liberia 
 after a few months' absence from the sea and 
 flowers." 
 
 " That may be so. Were she of pure negro 
 blood the case would be clear. It must be remem- 
 bered, however, that she is almost as much of 
 Aryan culture as she is of negro. Naturally she 
 thinks a great deal of Europe." 
 
 They had entered the yard, and were now 
 ascending the stairs. Lily and Mrs. Wrigley stood 
 at the door of the dining-room. The girl's cheeks 
 were flushed, and her eyes still looked dewy and 
 bright with tears. She whispered softly to him as 
 he passed, " Forgive me, Frank. I did not mean 
 to vex you." 
 
 251
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 After dinner he took out his writing materials 
 and worked assiduously at his novel. Lily came 
 into the room about eight o'clock and sat near him 
 quietly. Presently she took down a volume of 
 verse, and began to sing softly. He lifted his 
 head in some eagerness. 
 
 " How rarely you sing to me now !" 
 
 "Put those sheets away, Frank," she said, 
 snatching playfully at his pen and secreting his 
 ink. " Did you marry me or literature ? " 
 
 Frank looked at her with eyes that smiled. 
 
 " What a question ! Literature, of course ! 
 I committed bigamy when I married you. 
 
 ' Think not the poet loves like common clay, 
 
 He wooes his art, and to his muse is wed ; 
 Vain all thy words and all that thou canst say, 
 He takes no other amour to his bed} " 
 
 Lily brought her chair nearer to his. 
 
 " Talk to me," she said. 
 
 He obeyed the sweet nothings of love and 
 she listened to him quietly, occasionally replying 
 in little exclamations and cries of delight. Soon 
 a great silence fell upon them, and they took each 
 other's hands. 
 
 " Frank," she said, after the lamp had been long 
 extinguished, and they had drunk in the pleasure 
 of each other's presence, " have I been very wicked 
 since our return to Grand Bassa ? " 
 
 The moon threw a long ray of whiteness across 
 the bed, crowning her with a misty radiance. 
 Frank's lips replied with his voice. " Wicked ! 
 No, indeed ! Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " I heard Mr. Wrigley's last words when you 
 
 252
 
 Misunderstandings 
 
 were returning this morning from your walk, and 
 they have made me feel how very unhappy I have 
 been this last few weeks." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me? I have been so 
 busy during the rains that I have failed to notice 
 your depression, and there can be no doubt that 
 the weather has been oppressive and trying. But 
 you have certainly not been wicked, Lily. You 
 could hardly be that, little one." 
 
 She did not answer for some minutes. Then 
 a sigh came from her lips, and she said hurriedly 
 
 " Frank, I have been very wicked. You are 
 such an active mortal that the monotony of the 
 place does not trouble you. But I have grown to 
 loathe Grand Bassa since I saw London and Paris. 
 When the sun shines and the birds sing, when the 
 sea is bright and the flowers flash in the bush, I 
 am happy for the time. But, on a day like this 
 one has been, I am dreaming constantly of the 
 Strand, of Hyde Park, of Fleet Street, and I long 
 for England. Take me away, Frank, take me away." 
 
 Her face was turned towards his in appeal, and 
 Frank looked at her in a pain too deep for words. 
 
 " My dear child ! " he said. 
 
 " Why can't you understand ? Surely you, who 
 know the pleasures of town life, must realise what 
 I mean. I am caged, Frank, and I must have 
 liberty or break my wings. What is the use of 
 a life spent here with no laughter or tears, no 
 wonder, no news, no change ? Mrs. Brown has 
 just had an addition to her family the seventh : 
 stupendous event ! Old Pete Davis has bought a 
 new hound ! Two of father's farms have been 
 witched ! Why, even the natives have a pleasure 
 
 253
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 that we lack their frequent plays in honour of 
 the spirits. We have nothing : neither plays, nor 
 dances, nor assemblies." 
 
 " But surely, Lily, we need none of these. We 
 have each other, and all that nature and health can 
 offer. This is an Eden of Delight, where we can 
 learn to see life as it was primarily." 
 
 "An Eden ! An Eden of Dullness ! The place 
 is fit for torpid souls and ignorant minds ; but we 
 have life and desire. We might just as well die 
 off at once as remain here unknown and uncared 
 for." 
 
 She broke off with a sob, and Frank could not 
 find words in which to answer her. Her hand still 
 rested in his, and she continued after a pause 
 
 " I don't blame you, Frank. You are more than 
 kind to me, and since I met you I have known the 
 happiest hours in my life. But we are idling away 
 the precious days of our youth. We are not living ; 
 we merely vegetate. What pleasure we might have 
 in England ! And how foolish it is to waste our 
 chances of joy and delight ! " 
 
 " Darling, until I learned to love you, I had not 
 learned how to live. It is because Liberia has 
 produced my Lily o' the Fields that I cannot lightly 
 leave its shores. Here, I am at peace ; and why 
 should we throw away the blessings that lie in our 
 hands in exchange for the curse of strenuous 
 labour and unrequited toil ? I have had this 
 matter over with you before. Let us be content 
 with what we have." 
 
 " I am content with what we have, but I cannot 
 be satisfied with what we are, and where we are 
 situated. I hate this drowsy place, the primitive 
 
 254
 
 Misunderstandings 
 
 houses, the inadequate supply of European food, 
 the discomforts, the eternal bush, the incessant 
 swish of the waves on the beach. I would give 
 willingly my dearest treasures for the low murmur 
 of the streets and the glamour of the lights of 
 London." 
 
 The sadness of the moon was cruel. Frank 
 smiled grimly. 
 
 " You do not know what you are saying. It is 
 easy to understand why there is a note of dis- 
 content in every life. If you only knew, if you 
 only knew ! " 
 
 The actualities of life are too stern for senti- 
 ment. There is no pathos in real misery only 
 the sordid, weary pain. His words were hard and 
 his voice was cold. 
 
 " Say no more. We shall never be agreed, as 
 you said this forenoon," he continued. " You will 
 discover your mistake some day." 
 
 " As you will," said Lily. 
 
 Soon her restless breathing proclaimed that sleep 
 had ended the conversation for that night. But 
 Frank lay acutely awake, and the moon had paled 
 before he closed his eyes in rest. 
 
 255
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AN AVENUE OF ESCAPE 
 
 "Worry pulls down the organism, and will finally tear it to 
 pieces. Nothing is to be gained by it, but everything is to 
 be lost " 
 
 TT would be difficult to say in what trifles of 
 Lily's speech and manner, manifold, unremem- 
 bered, lay the cause of Frank's decision. It had 
 often been said of him that he took no thought for 
 the morrow, and it was indeed a fact that his joys 
 and his pains came to him as suddenly as they 
 passed. Easter had come, and the beach lay in 
 one dazzling expanse of golden brown, while the 
 ocean basked like a tired monster as far as the eye 
 could reach. 
 
 The novel was almost finished, but he hesitated 
 before writing the closing chapters. Meantime he 
 wrote and re-wrote the earlier parts, correcting and 
 reviewing with scrupulous regard. In labour lay 
 the antidote of his pain. For the present appeared 
 heavy and sombre. Lily's impetuous repentance 
 and desire that he should forget their quarrel made 
 her discontent all the more marked. Unless he 
 were to yield up his hobby and return with her 
 to England, he knew that only misery loomed 
 ahead. 
 
 256
 
 An Avenue of Escape 
 
 The week-ends she began to spend at the house 
 of the Summertons. Her father had now made 
 his nephew's house his home, and Lily was very 
 welcome when she called. Frank never doubted 
 her love, despite these caprices, but he could not 
 help the thought that she had married him primarily 
 because he came from England, the land of her 
 dreams. Upon the point of the commission for 
 West African articles they were now both silent, 
 and it was in secret that he commenced his task. 
 The feeling of nauseating self-condemnation was 
 acutely real. For Lily's sake he had broken down 
 his altars and become a slave to the mediocre. 
 
 It was the middle of April, and the days were 
 splendid ones. The sea sang sonorously on the 
 beach, and clouds of pea-green and rose flitted 
 across the sky. Frank carried his wife's chair to 
 the end of the piazza and swung himself into his 
 hammock. She had obeyed his summons with 
 a dreary smile, and fingered the leaves of her novel 
 while he spoke. He talked gently of his work, 
 and then of his parents and his recent letters from 
 home. 
 
 " But come with me for a walk. See, there 
 is no danger of rain, and the sun is cooling 
 now." 
 
 She looked at him uncertainly. " It is far too 
 hot for pleasure, and besides, I am tired of the 
 views. I know them all too well." 
 
 Frank dropped from his eminence with alacrity. 
 " You must come. Take me to Jack Summerton's. 
 It is some weeks since I saw your father and 
 cousins." 
 
 Lily put on her hat, and they walked slowly in 
 
 R 257
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 the direction of Buchanan by way of the beach. 
 The firm, hard sand made an admirable path, and 
 to the right the bush loomed wondrously green. 
 Soon they reached a little heap of rocks, round 
 which the sea eddied in miniature mountains of 
 foam and spray. 
 
 " The perpetual sea ! " Lily exclaimed. 
 
 Frank lifted her into his arms and carried her 
 over. He did not answer, realising full well that 
 he could give no satisfactory retort. 
 
 " If only we had been made of different mettle, 
 Frank," she continued, as they turned into the 
 avenue of trees just beyond. " What should it 
 matter to us whether we are in Liberia, England, 
 or Timbuctoo ? We have each other, and that 
 should suffice. But it doesn't. Here we are, 
 wealthy, as the world counts wealth, and yet poorer, 
 because of our environment, than that kruboy 
 yonder girt with his only garment. Why have 
 money if it is not to be spent ? Since we last 
 talked about this subject the world has deadened, 
 and I have grown to think there is nothing sentient 
 in it. And all because I am discontented, pining for 
 the cities ; and because the white people at the factory, 
 including yourself, are well pleased with the place 
 I have grown to despise." 
 
 " If only you would work with me, Lily ! It is 
 labour alone that makes life endurable, believe me. 
 Let me purchase a typewriter for you, and I will 
 teach you how to become my amanuensis. And now 
 let me make an acknowledgment. I have formally 
 accepted Harmley's offer, and the series of fetish 
 articles will begin next June." 
 
 " I am glad. You have been too fastidious in 
 
 258
 
 An Avenue of Escape 
 
 the past. What matters it from whence the money 
 comes ? Surely a cheque from Harmley 's Magazine 
 is as good as a draft from the Looker On or the 
 Thinker." 
 
 He laughed a little. 
 
 " l From Helicon's stream a draught would once inspire 
 
 The bard to sing in sweet ecstatic flight ; 
 But poets of this sordid age require 
 
 A draft on Parr's made payable at sight. 1 " 
 
 " Oh, cease quoting your epigrams," she cried. 
 But her eyes were brighter and her clasp more 
 strong as they reached the lane which led to her 
 cousin's house. She talked merrily. They still 
 walked hand in hand, and she ventured a number 
 of suggestions regarding the acquirement of new 
 information for the series. At the door she paused 
 with a gasp. The blinds were all drawn, and 
 Maggie met them with a white face. 
 
 " He died suddenly half an hour ago," she said. 
 " I have sent a boy for you. I suppose you came 
 by the beach, and thus missed him." 
 
 The old trader had kept up his farms to the last, 
 personally superintending their operation. But of 
 late he had grown very feeble, and his young re- 
 lations had persuaded him to rest on alternate days 
 of the week. He would sleep badly, and insisted 
 upon being the first to rise each morning. On 
 many occasions he had prepared and taken breakfast 
 upstairs to his nephew's bedroom, and sometimes 
 Jack and his wife would hear him up in the night 
 mixing a glass of his favourite toddy. 
 
 To-day he had slept until late in the forenoon, 
 and Maggie had left him in bed while she went 
 
 259
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 to one of the local stores for provisions. Jack 
 Summerton was on the beach watching the despatch 
 of a shipment of piassava, and on his return he 
 found that his uncle had risen. The table was 
 spread for the midday meal, and the old man was 
 sitting at the window quite dead, a cup of tea in his 
 hand. 
 
 Of books Joseph Summerton had known very 
 little. He had only received a rough education, 
 this grand old negro, but he was a cultured and 
 refined gentleman. His had been the polish that 
 comes from a bond of sympathy between nature 
 and the soul. 
 
 Lily was very quiet in her grief. Her father's 
 death was not such a loss as might have been con- 
 ceived. He was the last link that had bound her 
 to Liberia. She felt a curious sense of liberty. 
 Still, she bent over his form in sincere sorrow, and 
 was much subdued as they walked back to the 
 Atlantic House. 
 
 The following morning was a grey one, and the 
 little procession to the churchyard where Mrs. 
 Summerton already lay proved reverent and calm. 
 
 Frank was thoughtful during these days. To 
 leave Lily for a time ! This was the decision at 
 which he had arrived. In their suddenness the 
 recent events had averted his plans, but he remained 
 obsessed with the idea that in his absence alone lay 
 the solution to the problem of his wife's happiness. 
 She would then be freed from suggestions of 
 change, and her old peace of mind would return. 
 He tried hard to continue his articles for the 
 London publishers, and Lily helped him from the 
 storehouse of her infantile memories. Better Things 
 
 260
 
 An Avenue of Escape 
 
 still appeared at regular intervals, and his name 
 covered a page of fluent matter in almost every 
 issue. But his progress with the studies in fetish 
 was slow. There was no real argument in favour 
 of his distaste. For the Liberian magazines he had 
 produced many able pieces of work, and his present 
 task was clear and obvious enough. Yet he lingered 
 painfully over the manuscript, and at last he deemed 
 it possible that his power of production had left 
 him. The simplest phrase when written looked 
 clumsy and crude. The more he laboured, the 
 more he became perplexed, and the desperation of 
 the artist fell upon him. Finally he threw aside 
 his pen in disgust. 
 
 " What progress, Frank ? " asked his agent, as 
 they sat at breakfast next morning. 
 
 Benson gave an impatient gesture. " I have my 
 apology written for the next mail, and am deter- 
 mined to try no more. It has taken me a month 
 to write two thousand words, and they do not 
 please me now. If I were honest to myself I 
 would burn them without compunction." 
 
 "But what is the reason ?" asked Mrs. Wrigley. 
 " Your articles for us are excellently well written." 
 
 " The reason ? There is none. I cannot write 
 that is all." 
 
 " Mail Harmley's for a concession of time. It 
 would be foolish to throw up the work altogether," 
 said Lily persuasively. " In a few days all will be 
 well again." 
 
 " Maybe. But I want the thing off my mind. 
 I have worried enough." 
 
 " Why won't you be convinced, Frank ? " asked 
 the agent. f< Grand Bassa is not the place for you 
 
 261
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 young people. Go to England for a change, and 
 come back to thank me in two or three years." 
 
 Frank started. Then he laughed a little. " Your 
 prescription is still change, then ? " 
 
 " Yes : hurry, noise, excitement. You are only 
 dreary here, and the application of a thoroughly 
 awake intelligence is needed for your fetish articles. 
 Idyllic treatment would spoil them. Go home, and 
 lose yourself in a crowd ; watch the incessant 
 course of traffic ; indulge in movement. Let your 
 personality be lost for a time in the strong tide 
 of life." 
 
 Frank's eyes were gleaming. He did not speak. 
 
 " You want to be content here, but you are only 
 bemusing yourself. There is young life in you, 
 Frank, and soon you will be compelled to go from 
 us." 
 
 Benson's lips were twitching nervously, and the 
 truth of the words was strangely sweet to him. 
 His long experiment had broken at last ; but the 
 time had been pleasant. It had taken him nearly 
 two years to discover the truth, but now he knew 
 that this had only been an interlude, that he must 
 again live in the towns, or life would be no longer 
 endurable. 
 
 He rose from the table and entered his room. 
 The forsaken manuscript lay in a drawer. He 
 looked at it curiously. "There are two mighty 
 forces at work in Liberia to remove native fetish. 
 On the one hand we have the American negro im- 
 migrants, who are Christians, and on the other 
 Mohammedan priests, who travel down from the 
 north of Africa. These followers of Islam have 
 almost entirely subjugated the tribes of the interior. 
 
 262
 
 An Avenue of Escape 
 
 When we deliberate upon the superficiality of the 
 native African mind, and . . ." 
 
 The words were ringing in his mind like a 
 burden. He would try again, but this time the 
 attempt should be made in London. From the 
 drawer he lifted a letter addressed to " Charles 
 Harmley, Esq., The Temple, London, E.G.," and 
 tore it into fragments. Then he took up his pen 
 and wrote : 
 
 " MY DEAR HARMLEY, 
 
 " Finding that the accumulated notes of the 
 last few years cover a field too wide for the brief 
 treatment required in six monthly articles of four 
 thousand words each, I intend to travel to England 
 by the coast steamer immediately following this. 
 My main object is that we may negotiate for a 
 volume after serial publication. You may expect 
 me about a fortnight after the receipt of this letter, 
 and you will please prepare a room for me on 
 Halliday's floor. No doubt we can work together 
 for a few weeks, and your personal supervision of 
 the articles will be helpful. I mean to give you 
 good copy. Regards. <c BENSQN; > 
 
 263
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 THE QUARREL 
 
 " The chief secret of comfort lies in not suffering trifles to vex, 
 and in prudently cultivating our undergrowth of small 
 pleasures " 
 
 /COMMONLY it has been observed that local 
 influences and peculiarities, albeit they loom 
 so largely and prominently before the gaze of the 
 resident, seem to appeal with an increased interest 
 for a time if any new feature is discerned. Frank's 
 marriage with Lily had caused comment. His 
 gradual estrangement, observed, criticised, gave 
 rise to innumerable knowing smiles and nods. 
 Apart from the petty news, quarrels, bickerings, 
 actions for slander in the monthly courts, and all 
 the trivialities of gossip, the semi-educated towns- 
 people have little which is calculated to add zest 
 to their enjoyment of life. Had one little word 
 of understanding been uttered by either Lily or 
 Frank at this time, their lives would have been 
 happy and unclouded by the sombre vapours of 
 mistrust. But both were blind to each other's 
 aspirations, and neither doubted that the next few 
 months would gradually mould their destinies. 
 However, the day that you lose the wonted sense 
 of intimacy with your surroundings, that same day 
 do you cease to be a member of your old com- 
 
 264
 
 The Quarrel 
 
 munity. Henceforth you are a stranger, and your 
 moral character has received a shock. This had 
 already happened to Benson. The revulsion was 
 sudden, but it was none the less sure. He did not 
 mention his project to Lily, and daily his impatience 
 grew to escape from the oppressive atmosphere 
 of Grand Bassa. Lily spoke nothing of England. 
 The days were bright and long, and she had made 
 her own little garden down at the gate. The 
 natives were childishly delighted, and as they 
 strewed the yard with the strands of fibre they 
 would pause to smile upon "little Missie Benson." 
 
 The thought that he must confess his intentions 
 to Lily oppressed the journalist continually. It 
 was only a week now before the steamer would 
 arrive. At last came a day when his wife's own 
 words brought on the disclosure. She was pruning 
 her roses, and as he passed from the house to the 
 kernel shed she called to him. 
 
 " Let me give you a buttonhole," she said. 
 
 " Thank you." And he vaulted lightly over the 
 fence. " All in a garden fair, eh ? " Lily looked 
 at him keenly as she fastened the flower in its 
 place. 
 
 " How quiet and reserved you have been lately, 
 Frank ! Are you unwell ? And you don't seem to 
 be doing any literary work." 
 
 "No I am dead tired of writing for the time 
 being." 
 
 "Then won't you let me help you again? It is 
 over three weeks since you asked me to act as 
 amanuensis." 
 
 "The ordinary labours of the factory seem to 
 please me better at present." 
 
 265
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 She pouted, and her face was very sober. 
 
 " Do you know sufficient to carry you through 
 your commission ? I thought your appetite for 
 information was insatiable." 
 
 " Is not two years' study enough ? I know as 
 much about the fetish as I shall ever want to 
 work up." 
 
 "That cannot be much, judging by your pre- 
 sent aversion from labour," she retorted, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " How tantalising you are, Lily ! Not in this 
 matter alone, but in others. You are always telling 
 me that I ought to go home, and yet you now in- 
 directly suggest that another two or three years 
 in Liberia are necessary for my success." 
 
 Her eyes were full of distress. 
 
 " Mr. Wrigley is talking to Jack Summerton 
 yonder. Go and join them." 
 
 She opened the gate for him, and murmured, 
 " But why worry so much over the work, Frank ? " 
 
 He looked at her with an expression of wonder. 
 
 "Am I not undertaking the commission solely 
 for your benefit ? Was it not you who, by petu- 
 lance and discontent, persuaded me against my 
 better sense to perform the work ? Not that it 
 troubles me, though, now ! It is the failure of 
 my intentions that galls. Grand Bassa was to be 
 my home for many, many months perh'aps years 
 to come. You have killed its charm for me 
 prematurely driven me back to slavery." 
 
 "You cannot mean what you are saying," she 
 cried. 
 
 " I do mean it. What you told me the other 
 day, and later confirmed by Mr. Wrigley, is true. 
 
 266
 
 The Quarrel 
 
 I was a fool for coming to Liberia. Now I have 
 my folly to regret with a great remorse." 
 
 " You wrong me, Frank, in saying that I am to 
 blame. And you compel me to say things that 
 should be left unsaid. On many occasions you 
 have told me that your visit to this place was the 
 result of a caprice, and I still maintain that it is 
 good for you that Liberia has relinquished her 
 beauty, a fantasy, an ideal of your brain alone. 
 You should certainly return to the life that is 
 your natural sphere." 
 
 " I will. The next steamer shall carry me to 
 England. I am sick of the life which has been 
 mine for the last few months. You told me when 
 first I met you that my stay would be brief. And 
 you have been admirably consistent. The same 
 words have been sounded in my ears unceasingly. 
 Now I shall act upon them." 
 
 " You will not go alone. Perhaps that thought 
 embodies the pain." 
 
 Her eyes were flashing. He looked at her 
 calmly. There was a breathless pause. Two of 
 the yard-boys noisily asked for the rose which had 
 fallen from Frank's breast, and now lay at his feet. 
 He gave it to one of them mechanically. 
 
 " Frank," the wife cried passionately, as the 
 blacks moved away, " I am tired of being treated 
 like a child. You do with me as you will. One 
 day I am everything to you, and we enjoy a 
 delicious leisure. Another day you throw me 
 aside and hardly greet me. You cannot love me 
 as I love you. I seem to be a kind of plaything 
 to you. Sometimes your coldness so chills me 
 that the whole world seems dead. But when you 
 
 267
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 take me in your arms I forget all the anguish and 
 the pain. I am bound to you for ever, and I 
 cannot live without you : all my actions, my words, 
 nay, my thoughts even, seem to belong to you." 
 
 Frank touched her hand in some compunction. 
 His intention remained unshaken, despite the pity 
 that momentarily moved him. She shook his hand 
 off angrily. 
 
 " You cannot go with me, Lily. That is im- 
 possible. I am travelling to London purely on 
 the business of the work undertaken for your 
 sake. The convenience and comfort essential to 
 your welfare could not be offered. If you went 
 you might be happy for a time. The theatres and 
 music-halls would amuse and the streets instruct. 
 The noise would interest and the lights distract. 
 But could it last ? In England I have said this 
 before many times I am a poor man among poor 
 men. Are you able to drudge that my home and 
 hearth may be bright ? " 
 
 Lily's face drooped over the flowers. The words 
 were bitter, harsh, unfeeling. 
 
 " Frank, you are hurting me. Let me say what 
 I have to say now, and it will all be over. When 
 first you came to Grand Bassa and visited our 
 house I could get on without you. There was 
 dear mother and father, the holidays with Cousin 
 Jack, my books. But you have widened my life. 
 Even if we continue unhappy, take me with you." 
 
 "It would kill you, child, if I did. After all, 
 the trouble doesn't move around me and my 
 decision to return. It is a question of environ- 
 ment. I can afford to keep you in comfort here. 
 This is your home, and here you should remain. 
 
 268
 
 The Quarrel 
 
 I can return to my old ways, and be satisfied with 
 my limited means. You have shown me that life 
 is impossible here for the two of us. And I am 
 the one to make a move." 
 
 There was another painful silence. Then she 
 burst out passionately 
 
 " Why did I ever meet you ? Before you came 
 I had vague longings for Europe, it is true ; but 
 they would never have been importunate if I had 
 not married you. I had a happy home, and Jack 
 Summerton was practically " 
 
 " The home has gone from you, Lily ; and 
 Summerton seems well content with his wife." 
 
 His face was towards the sea. But he heard the 
 great catch in her voice as she broke down a shoot 
 of the rose bush. He attempted to recollect the 
 exact words of the sentence just uttered, and stood 
 in dumb contrition at the gate. Then he passed 
 silently through the yard and into the house. 
 
 The agent was perusing his mails from home, 
 and handed him a packet with a smile. 
 
 " You have always a multitude of epistles," he 
 said ; " there is a cable among them." 
 
 Frank brought out a chair, and tore open the 
 envelopes slowly. There were several letters from 
 literary friends, terse, brief, eloquent, and one from 
 his father : " You are doing too much, Frank. 
 What are you living on out yonder ? Nothing 
 apparently. Last week we had three cheques 
 transferred to us for your account, and to-day 
 the midday post brings a fourth. Surely Lily 
 needs a couple of new dresses ? . . . But after all, 
 lad, we hardly know the day that you may be 
 coming home for good, and I know that expenses 
 
 269
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 will then be very heavy. Only do not overwork 
 yourself." 
 
 He tore off the wrapper of the cable in some 
 surprise : " Benson, Grand Bassa. Letter received. 
 Accept offer. Come immediately. Harmley." 
 
 He held it out to Wrigley. " I shall go on 
 Tuesday. Perhaps the boys had better commence 
 to pack my boxes now." 
 
 As he passed quickly into his room he became 
 vaguely aware that his agent was looking after him 
 with a strange expression of amaze. 
 
 The cable was a matter of some surprise, and 
 occasioned several conversations over meals. Mrs. 
 Wrigley's ready acceptance of the position was 
 embarrassing in a degree. But there were many 
 considerations which she alone grasped. Lily's 
 hour was at hand, and her matronly heart was 
 full of love for the young wife. Again she longed 
 for a constant female companion ; and Lily's 
 absence was a thing not to be desired. 
 
 " It will only be a few months' absence, of 
 course," she said optimistically. " When the 
 articles are completed he will return for Lily, and 
 they will live in Manchester." 
 
 But Frank preserved a cool demeanour, and 
 talked little of his ultimate intentions. 
 
 That night he stood at the bedroom window. 
 The French shutters were thrown back, and a 
 night-jar was singing somewhere near. The waves 
 boomed out an undertone of harmony, and a faint 
 breeze rippled by. Lily was stirring at the dress- 
 ing-table. Her hair hung around her shoulders 
 in long ripples, and she smiled bravely at his 
 reflection in the glass as he turned his head. Mrs. 
 
 270
 
 The Quarrel 
 
 Wrigley's view of the situation had pleased her ; 
 and that lady had whispered certain significant 
 words about a little life that had moved her greatly. 
 She now showed her affection towards Frank 
 in many little ways. For had she not misjudged 
 him, and was he not to leave her soon ? Was 
 not crowning glory of all the absence under- 
 taken to render her happiness assured ? The 
 conversation in the garden she endeavoured 
 bravely to forget. 
 
 " Lily," he said, " come and listen with me." 
 As she leaned against him in the quietude of 
 the night he felt suddenly that he could wish her 
 dead. He loved her with such a fervour of feeling 
 that the thought of his desertion rilled him with 
 anguish. And he knew or deemed he knew 
 that her love would slowly change to hate were 
 he to take her to a life of sordidness and grind. 
 This was his wildest mistake. For at Eldon 
 Green his income would have been more than 
 sufficient for their needs. But his sense of 
 monetary proportion was lost. He had lived so 
 very cheaply in Liberia that in comparison the 
 responsibility of an English household seemed a 
 thing incredible. 
 
 She was in a nightdress of white fringed with 
 pale blue, and loose at the neck and arms. As she 
 bent over the sill and inhaled the pure air, he 
 could see her breasts gleaming whitely in the 
 gloom. " Frank," she said softly, " you will be 
 only with me a few days longer. Write me a 
 poem to-night and leave it with me. I can kiss 
 it when you are far away from the scenes that we 
 once were wont to love." 
 
 271
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 " Presently," he said, as he stooped to caress her. 
 " You shall have it before I sleep." 
 
 " I have been perverse with you, Frank, and I am 
 very sorry." She paused shyly, and he turned 
 hurriedly to the table. 
 
 " The poem," he said gaily. " Don't light the 
 lamp ; I shall be able to see in the moonlight." 
 
 " Frank, there is one thing : I should have liked 
 you to be with me another month or so. Maggie 
 remarked to-day that she thought you should have 
 been proud to remain at home until after you 
 knew. It is the first unloyal thing she has said 
 of you." 
 
 He did not understand. 
 
 " Until after I knew ? " 
 
 She stopped his mouth with a kiss, and placed 
 the pen in his hand. " Oh, you stupid boy ! " she 
 cried. " Write." 
 
 And this is the poem he left with her to think of 
 in the dimness of the future, because they had 
 both delighted to listen to the song of the night- 
 jar's love 
 
 " Here 'mid the dewy stillnesses of night, 
 
 Unbroken save by rustling of the leaves, 
 When, riding high, the moon pours forth her light 
 
 In mystic radiance round the old-world eaves, 
 A sudden rush of melody and love, 
 
 A frenzied rapture from a brown bird's throat, 
 Breaks on the ear, now thrilling high above, 
 Now down as though the earth were with its sudden glory smote. 
 
 " Oh, angel-voice destroying all he dark, 
 
 Oh, russet bird that haunts the dim-lit wood, 
 Leave thou the day to the upsoaring lark, 
 But stay with us and be our dreaming food. 
 272
 
 The Quarrel 
 
 For whether this be ecstasy or fain 
 
 That opes my soul, or sin, or large desire, 
 I cannot tell; but while thy silver rain 
 Falls on my ear I feel my soul throb like an angel-lyre." 
 
 He woke in the night to the sound of sobbing. 
 Lily was lying on his breast in tears. Then it was 
 that he understood what she had meant, and he 
 muttered, " Better so." A great wave of tender- 
 ness ran over him. He put his arms around the 
 wife that was so soon to be a mother, and soothed 
 her as he would have done a tired child. 
 
 " Oh, Frank, our little one, our little one 1 " she 
 said repeatedly. Presently she grew calmer, and 
 only a few sobs came intermittently from her 
 direction. 
 
 When she rose next morning she looked so un- 
 wontedly fresh and happy that he was partly con- 
 vinced the whole course of events had been a 
 dream. But the poem lay on the table, and Lily 
 put it carefully away. " I shall always have you 
 with me, and it shall be a token between us and 
 our wonder-babe." 
 
 273
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 IN EXITU ISRAEL 
 
 "Ascertain clearly what is wrong with you, and as far as you 
 know' any means of mending it, take those means, and 
 have done " 
 
 steamer arrived in the Bassa harbour two 
 days later. At an early hour the boat was 
 ready to take off his boxes. Lily smiled and 
 chatted always. She seemed to have forgotten her 
 distress, and he recognised that she was pleased at 
 the thought of his holiday. 
 
 He kissed her tenderly on the beach, and took 
 his place in the boat. Even when the shore had 
 receded into a long line of green, and the houses 
 had dwindled into Lilliputian size, he could still 
 discern through his glasses a fluttering of handker- 
 chiefs near the factory. 
 
 The captain was an acquaintance of over a year's 
 standing, and frequent calls at the Atlantic House 
 had rendered him familiar with Frank's home-life. 
 He talked glibly of many things. But Frank was 
 hardly in the mood for conversation, and only 
 replied in monosyllables. He leaned back in his 
 deck-chair watching the sunset. The shore had 
 now disappeared, and soon he retired to his cabin. 
 
 274
 
 In Exitu Israel 
 
 His heart was aching. Was he any better than 
 the dead man whose actions he had condemned a 
 year before ? Clayton had deserted Sarnie without 
 marriage. He was leaving a tender creature of 
 infinite possibilities to humour his sense of epicure- 
 anism, and this girl was tied to him by all the 
 holiest bonds of love. 
 
 What a fool he had been to leave England ! 
 African life had charmed him by its simplicity, 
 but it had brought him a dual punishment. Had 
 the pain fallen on himself alone he could have 
 borne it stoically. But there was Lily " Lily o' 
 the Fields " and he could see her going through 
 life with the burden of her marriage upon her to 
 the end. " I should not have married her," he 
 thought sadly. 
 
 They neared Sierra Leone in the early morning 
 of a Thursday, in April, 19 . He paced the 
 deck feverishly, and spent the two days during 
 which the steamer discharged and received her 
 cargo ashore at the old hotel. Memories thronged 
 thickly around him. He dined at the open window. 
 The place was empty of visitors, and he was quite 
 alone. The night was pleasantly warm and the 
 frogs had ceased their mournful croaking. Only 
 the low hum of the insects and the far-away 
 voices of stray passengers in the wider streets 
 broke the silence. The lights of the steamer 
 could be seen far out at sea, and the moon-rays 
 fell in tremulous ripples on the water. On the 
 hills loomed the barracks, and a bugle sounded 
 shrilly down the slope. Not yet a year since 
 last he had stayed at this place, but what long 
 stretches of happiness and misery, pleasure and 
 
 275
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 pain, lay behind ! He whispered a stanza from 
 his ancient poem 
 
 " I feel a tenderness at heart, 
 
 That was but gentle heretofore, 
 That once was lonely and apart, 
 But now is perfect evermore 
 
 Because / love you ! " 
 
 Perfect ! He dwelt on the word with ironical 
 bitterness. Let him bury his failure. Had he 
 not met with Lily Summerton his peace of mind 
 might have remained undisturbed. He had loved 
 her from the first, and from that love had grown 
 all the complications of his marriage. When 
 he left England he had believed himself to be 
 safe from attack. He had looked with eyes of 
 respectful indifference upon England's fairest 
 roses. And he had fallen beneath the glance 
 of the first pretty girl he had met in Liberia. 
 No, he could never return to Grand Bassa. Lily 
 represented a huge mistake, the reproach of his 
 life. He must write to her immediately. 
 
 He called for writing materials, and sat long 
 with his eyes fixed on the sea. The waves sang 
 the words, " Perfect evermore, perfect evermore," 
 in his ears until he detested his position, his 
 life, with an awful loathing. The irony of exist- 
 ence the harshness of the gods ! He took up 
 the pen and wrote : 
 
 " MY DEAR LILY, 
 
 " Between you and me a lengthy explana- 
 tion should be unnecessary. We have both been 
 deluded into a dream of false happiness. My 
 
 276
 
 In Exitu Israel 
 
 experiment has failed. I only asked when I left 
 England in 19 that the slavery of enforced 
 labour should be lifted from my brain, and that 
 I should be permitted to live a simple life. But 
 the fates were unkind to me. They denied me 
 my wish ; they taught me to love you. And 
 in your restlessness after our honeymoon I heard 
 the town calling, calling. You have tried to 
 believe that you could be happy with me in 
 England. But I know otherwise. You were 
 born with the freshness of nature in your veins, 
 and you would pine away under the regime of 
 a poor man's household. Affluence in Liberia 
 is penury in England. Some day I may return 
 to you. Meantime, be happy. I shall make 
 arrangements in London for you to receive at 
 least ^100 per annum sufficient to keep you in 
 comfort. My love for you is unchanged. I kiss 
 you in parting. "FRANK." 
 
 He did not post his letter in Freetown. His 
 motive in writing it at this early stage was to 
 avert repentance. When the steamer arrived in 
 Liverpool he carried it straight to a pillar-box 
 on the landing-stage, and then disposed of his 
 luggage with an easier mind. 
 
 It was only on the second morning that he began 
 to meditate seriously about the future. He had 
 wired to London announcing his arrival, and 
 as the train whirled him away to the metropolis 
 his thoughts were conflicting ones. It had been 
 cowardly, he felt, not to call at Manchester, but 
 he had written to his parents telling them of 
 his sudden return, and giving as the reason the 
 
 277
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 new series of articles for Harmleys Magazine. 
 " Lily is not with me," he wrote. " This is 
 purely a business visit, and she was in good health 
 when I left. Shall see you as soon as I can spare 
 time for a trip north." 
 
 The duplicity and meanness of his actions did 
 not show themselves to him at first. He believed 
 firmly that he had taken the only course open to 
 him, and he fondly hoped that his wife would be 
 the first to recognise the wisdom of his steps. At 
 the terminus he met Harmley, and they greeted 
 each other heartily. "We thought we had lost 
 you altogether, old boy. It is just like welcoming 
 you back to civilisation after two years of bar- 
 barism." 
 
 They drove in a hansom to the Temple, and as 
 they came from the quieter streets and passed into 
 the open thoroughfares he felt the noise and move- 
 ment to be very pleasing. The old familiar roar 
 enveloped him in a cloud of reminiscence. He re- 
 called smilingly the morning when he had driven 
 through Manchester bidding farewell to all these 
 manifold clamours. Now he was greeting them as 
 friends well met. 
 
 But that night, amid a dull, heavy London fog, 
 he thought of Grand Bassa. He could not sleep, 
 and he lay miserably through the long dark hours. 
 When the morning came the meagre sunlight 
 seemed menacing and admonitory. He dressed 
 carelessly, for his old pride in appearance was dead. 
 He saw a young friend in the chambers about his 
 income, and made over to his wife the amount 
 named in his letter for a period of five years. The 
 lawyer was flippant, and asked several embarrassing 
 
 278
 
 In Exitu Israel 
 
 questions. Everyone had heard of Benson's strange 
 marriage. Frank felt ashamed. Was he not laying 
 a reproach at the door of one of the purest girls in 
 the world ? Would his unborn child ever know 
 the care of a father ? Could he dare take away 
 such a right ? Surely, surely he had been hasty. 
 His duty lay in the regard of his wife and child, 
 despite private feelings of regret. To go back to 
 her, to ask her pardon, to beg her to share his 
 labour, and to make the most of what God had 
 granted them this was a great and glorious 
 vision ! 
 
 " I have finished the deed, Benson." 
 
 He started. The voice dispelled his dream. 
 Then he signed the papers hurriedly, and left the 
 room with a face as pale as death. 
 
 After his manuscripts had been laid aside for the 
 night he walked slowly towards his hotel. He had 
 declined his publisher's offer of rooms at his little 
 villa in St. John's Wood, but he was to meet a 
 party of his quondam friends at the Balliol Club 
 after dinner. 
 
 He was cynically amused when he arrived to see 
 that several of his fellow-journalists carried copies 
 of the recent issues of the society papers. He de- 
 tested self-advertisement, and he knew instinctively 
 that they were the periodicals to which the young 
 men contributed. 
 
 " Have you read my article upon the new Pinero 
 play ? I speak pretty strongly upon the bedroom 
 scene. It is mainly written after the Archer style, 
 and should excite some interest." 
 
 Frank smiled coldly. He recognised the man as 
 an acquaintance of two years before, but he now 
 
 279
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 affected peculiarities of dress which rendered the 
 acknowledgment a difficult one. 
 
 " Do you often copy Archer ? Is he the best 
 model ? Why not give Chambers or Henley or 
 Symons a chance the next time you review for the 
 Dragnet ? " 
 
 But the sarcasm passed unnoticed. 
 
 Soon the conversation became general, and 
 worked into the ordinary ways circulation, royal- 
 ties, commissions, advertisement. Frank's soul 
 sickened. Was this literature or the atmosphere 
 of literature ? the god at whose shrine he had laid 
 his life, his brain, his soul. Surely he had been 
 right in declaring that the true home of the writer 
 is the country, after all. He left early, in sore 
 doubt and with warring emotions. The night air 
 was very grateful. 
 
 The sun was high in the heavens before he 
 reached the Temple next morning. Barristers' 
 clerks hurried briskly through the courts and old 
 archways. Anon a figure in wig and gown showed 
 itself on the corridors, and then disappeared down 
 the wide steps. The birds were twittering gaily 
 in the elms, and the windows were rosy with the 
 dappled light and shadow of the sun and the trees. 
 
 Frank's heart was moved. It was the first 
 moment of peace that he had known since he left 
 Grand Bassa. He stood in the courtyard, thrilling 
 with the quietness of the place, the colour, and the 
 grandeur. Sometimes the pigeons cooed, and the 
 horses snorted at their stands. A line of policemen 
 passed slowly by on their way to duty. A newsboy 
 cried almost musically the morning papers. 
 
 There was a goodly pile of letters on his desk, 
 280
 
 In Exitu Israel 
 
 and a scribbled note from his publisher : " Take a 
 few days' holiday if you feel so inclined. The first 
 two articles are grand. I am just off to Glasgow 
 for a fortnight to arrange about our new branch 
 newspaper there. Don't hurry the work. Harm- 
 ley." Another letter was from Eldon Green, ex- 
 pressing a degree of surprise at his sudden return 
 and hoping that he would soon visit Manchester. 
 He lifted the next in some perturbation. The 
 envelope was dainty, coloured, and scented. Ob- 
 viously it was from a lady, and he did not wish to 
 renew old acquaintances except where he was really 
 compelled to do so. He turned to the signature : 
 " Kathleen Robinson." It ran : 
 
 " MY DEAR FRANK BENSON, 
 
 " Until I saw the new issue of Harmless 
 Magazine I had thought it possible that you were 
 no longer in the land of the living. Don't you 
 remember that you have several times promised to 
 spend one of your summer vacations with me ? 
 That was two years ago, of course, and then you 
 were a charming boy with long hair. Now you 
 are much changed, I suppose, and amid the gaieties 
 of London life will have forgotten poor Kitty 
 Robinson. How long have you been in England ? 
 Your present address is unknown to me, but when 
 I heard last week from a friend that you were to be 
 seen at the Temple I determined to write to that 
 delectable spot. After your ridiculous solitude 
 in what's the name of the place ? Liberia (it 
 might as well be Siberia), you must feel like a re- 
 leased prisoner. 
 
 " The weather is delicious in Swansea at present. 
 281
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 You can indulge your fondness for the sea to your 
 heart's content. Come and see me, and I'll take 
 you the rounds. 
 
 " What was the special attraction over there ? Is 
 it really true that you married a negress, or was 
 it only an affair of the heart ? If she is in 
 England do bring her with you. You know how 
 democratic I am. If she needs a chaperon leave 
 her with me. I contemplate a tour, and if we agreed 
 nothing could be better for her development. 
 
 " Now do come, or I shall think you have entirely 
 
 "KATHLEEN ROBINSON." 
 
 A man with more experience of the shallowness 
 of life would have read between the lines of this 
 letter and better understood its purport. For 
 Mrs. Robinson was a renowned flirt. But Frank 
 Benson's life had been pure, and his thirty years 
 had given him nothing of vice that his twenty 
 years did not possess. He saw only in this note a 
 chance of sympathy. Mrs. Robinson posed as a 
 patron of the arts. She was a widow in comfort- 
 able circumstances, and her favourite occupation 
 was to pass the days in the company of handsome 
 young men. She had published two volumes of 
 mediocre poems, and delighted to surround herself 
 with literary notabilities. Frank had met her 
 twice. The first time was at a social gathering of 
 authors in London, where he had known only some 
 half-dozen northern pressmen. She had looked 
 with approval on his tall figure and long brown 
 hair. At dinner she sat next to him, and after- 
 wards carried him into the conservatory, where he 
 talked little nothings about art and sentiment for an 
 
 282
 
 In Exitu Israel 
 
 hour. The next time was at her house in Swansea, 
 where many great men and women had assembled. 
 
 To Frank Benson Mrs. Robinson was only a 
 motherly woman, and he would have repudiated 
 any suggestion of sinister motives behind her in- 
 vitation. He would talk to her, and in reply he 
 would receive cooing words of sympathy and in- 
 terest. When he thought of her he saw a woman 
 approaching forty, inclined to stoutness, her face 
 slightly treated with cosmetics. And then in con- 
 trast he remembered Lily slight, girlish, young. 
 
 He filled his portmanteau. " She will perhaps 
 understand," he thought. "And, in any case, the 
 sight of the sea will be refreshing." 
 
 283
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 THE BUBBLE BURSTS 
 
 " Remember every evil to which we do not succumb 
 is a benefactor " 
 
 TT was early in the month of July that Frank 
 
 arrived in Swansea, and the place was thronged 
 with visitors. As his hansom edged its way 
 laboriously from the station he felt a thrill of 
 pleasure. Smartly dressed men and gaily attired 
 women were promenading by the sea, and the air 
 was brisk and refreshing. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson lived in Oxford Street. He 
 heard the bell ring, and then dismounted. The 
 butler who opened the door to him seemed sur- 
 prised, and listened to his questions with an air 
 of diffidence. 
 
 " Madam never receives in the morning. She 
 is not well to-day and is still in her room." 
 
 " But she expects me, I believe. Take my card 
 to her." 
 
 The house was scented with flowers and ferns, 
 and the hall floor covered with soft carpets. In 
 the drawing-room Frank sat down to wait. There 
 was a grand piano, and the skins of tigers and 
 leopards rested on the couches and chairs. The 
 walls were covered with framed manuscripts and 
 
 284
 
 The Bubble Bursts 
 
 signed photographs of celebrities. Over the fire- 
 place was a large picture of Kathleen Robinson 
 herself. The hair was coiled loosely around her 
 head and neck, and the face appeared roguish and 
 attractive. 
 
 A moment later the door opened, and he turned 
 to greet his hostess. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Benson, I am so glad to see you. 
 I have had a bad attack of headache, and nothing 
 does me good at such times but complete rest." 
 
 He uttered a few commonplaces, and sat looking 
 out at the sunlight and the sea. 
 
 " Come and talk to me," she said imperatively. 
 
 The widow had thrown herself on to a little 
 sofa, and looked pleasing enough amid her sur- 
 roundings. She was of medium height, with white 
 skin and good teeth. Her dress was of a rich, 
 clinging material, open at the neck and loose about 
 the arms. She talked softly, laughing from time 
 to time. 
 
 " So where is the charming negress ? " 
 
 " I left my wife in Grand Bassa," replied Frank 
 somewhat coldly. " She was unfit for travel." 
 
 " Really. Is she rich ? But I suppose the 
 daughters of all these Liberian planters are heir- 
 esses. Tell me something about Africa." 
 
 " Were you not there once some months with 
 your husband ? " 
 
 "Yes in South Africa. But I saw nothing 
 of the primitive side of native life." 
 
 She talked freely, and soon they were at dinner 
 tete-a-tete. She saw from the constrained way in 
 which he answered her questions regarding his 
 married life that there was some slight mis- 
 
 285
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 understanding between himself and his wife ; and 
 with a woman's intuition she recognised that he was 
 to blame. 
 
 " I am afraid that, like the majority of English- 
 men, you are so used to being in a fog that you 
 prefer to remain there. It is the secret of your 
 success as a psychological novelist." 
 
 "You don't seem to respect your countrymen 
 as you should," he replied, with a smile. 
 
 " I admire them immensely. The world has not 
 yet seen, so far as history tells us, the equal of what 
 they have become." 
 
 "Aristocracy as the throne, and democracy the 
 crown." 
 
 " Without the monarch to possess either ? " she 
 asked sententiously. 
 
 "Dear me, no. The monarch is necessary to 
 face the social problems." 
 
 " Such as that of the great unemployed, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Or that of the great overpaid," he answered. 
 
 "With a State system like ours . . ." she sug- 
 gested, leaving the continuance of the subject in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Take education. There is no further parental 
 need of responsibility. The State educates ; and 
 what, then, is the occasion of bringing up children 
 when one can have them educated instead ? " 
 
 He spoke banteringly. She had long since 
 caught his mood. 
 
 " If only it included etiquette," she sighed, taking 
 up an orange. 
 
 " You want too much for your money." 
 
 "Yes. In these sordid days we expect the 
 
 286
 
 The Bubble Bursts 
 
 guinea ticket for a box at the theatre to include 
 a dress suit, or the six shillings paid for a novel 
 to supply a bookcase." 
 
 "That reminds me. You must take me to a 
 theatre." 
 
 " Where shall we go ? " the widow asked. 
 
 " Anywhere." 
 
 She smiled up at him as he led her from the 
 dining-room. As he placed the opera cloak around 
 her shoulders he thought of Lily for the first time 
 that evening. He compared the elusive freshness 
 and purity of his wife's presence with the sentient 
 figure of well-dressed reality by his side. What 
 were they doing in Bassa to-night ? Was his little 
 one nestling on its mother's breast ? 
 
 The play was a modern one : the story of a girl 
 who left her home in the country to become the 
 mistress of a man about town. Frank moved im- 
 patiently. His thoughts were ill. 
 
 " Marriage hasn't improved you, Mr. Benson. 
 Are you eager to return ? You haven't spoken a 
 word to me for over an hour." 
 
 He apologised for his neglect in some contrition, 
 and followed the new act more closely. 
 
 " Were you ever in love ? " asked Kathleen, as 
 she noticed his critical attitude. She leaned back 
 behind the curtain of the box to look more closely 
 at him. 
 
 " I am in love. But why ask such a strange 
 question ? " 
 
 "Oh, I was just wondering. You are a walking 
 icicle that's all." 
 
 It was an impassioned moment in the play. The 
 girl was renouncing her lover with splendid heroics. 
 
 287
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 From the stalls came low murmurs of approval ; 
 the pit loudly applauded ; and the gallery screamed. 
 
 " Let us go," she said, as the curtain fell. " You 
 are worried, poor boy. I want to talk to you." 
 
 In the carriage, while driving back to the house, 
 she told him that she had sent to him for the sake 
 of amusement. " You were a delightful boy two 
 years ago, and played court in fine style." 
 
 But she had seen that he was distressed, and 
 before he was shown to his room that night he 
 had poured the whole story of his troubles into 
 her sympathetic ears. And because she was a 
 woman she understood him, and he slept more 
 peacefully than he had done since his return to 
 England. 
 
 The following morning he went back to town. 
 His next step seemed clear. While he was known 
 to his old colleagues he would ever be a reproach 
 to himself and the girl he had married. A month's 
 close application would finish his work for Harm- 
 ley, and the liberal payment would help him through 
 the present year. Work, he knew to be the only 
 true medicine for a mind harassed, and downright 
 weariness would ensure him repose. He would 
 have to use a nom de plume in many instances, and 
 it might mean a recommencement of his career. 
 If London could not hide him from inquisitive 
 friends, no matter how kind and well-meaning 
 their inquiries might be, he must seek another 
 town. 
 
 The weeks passed. His punishment was more 
 than he could bear. The articles appeared in their 
 due course, and he read favourable opinions in 
 almost every newspaper and review that came into 
 
 288
 
 The Bubble Bursts 
 
 the offices at the Temple. But what he had once 
 known as distractions were now experiences of the 
 most hideous kind. He declined every invitation 
 that came to him. The literary clubs desired to 
 fete him, and many great people invited him to 
 dinner. He was compelled to refuse them all. 
 The theatres he shunned, and it was remarked that 
 he had grown sullen, reserved, self-centred. A 
 note, received at this time from his father, un- 
 nerved him greatly : 
 
 " MY DEAR FRANK, 
 
 " I have just received a letter from Grand 
 Bassa. You will see that your late agent speaks 
 of your conduct in no unmeasured terms. His 
 judgment may appear unduly harsh and cruel ; but 
 you must remember that Mr. Wrigley whom I 
 have not yet had the pleasure of meeting is a 
 man of large experience in the world, and I am 
 well inclined to add my condemnation to his. Lily 
 is a dear, gentle girl, and her life is wrapped up 
 in yours. That you should have deserted her so re- 
 morselessly is a most dishonourable action. I should 
 now suggest that you continue your absence for 
 a period, and this course seems to have the approval 
 of Mr. Wrigley. Make Paris your new home. I 
 am sending you an introduction to an old school- 
 mate of mine, Henry Dunbar. He is the editor 
 of the Revue Elanc^ so that your literary career 
 will still be open to you. Put yourself unreservedly 
 in his hands, and return to England cured of your 
 mind-sickness. 
 
 " Perhaps you will think I am speaking too 
 authoritatively. It is true that for the last few 
 T 289
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 years you have been a free agent, but your happi- 
 ness, dear lad, is too near to my heart to allow 
 you to drift into such a morale of perplexity as 
 will take a lifetime for you to extricate yourself 
 from. I have done much for you, and now I want 
 you to repay me a little. You are our only child, 
 and I am yet looking forward to having Lily and 
 my little grandson (it is a boy) in my home, with 
 you in happy possession. Don't you remember 
 your promise that Eldon Green should be made 
 your headquarters ? 
 
 " Mother sends her love, but for both your 
 sakes I have forbidden her to write. 
 
 " Your affectionate father, 
 
 " CREIGHTON BENSON." 
 
 Frank read the letter sentence for sentence 
 several times, and a mist swam before his eyes. 
 His father : so merry, so caustic, so indulgent. 
 He saw him in every strongly written word. He 
 would obey him. This visit to Paris would prac- 
 tically mean a restarting of his life, but that did 
 not matter. 
 
 A month later he was settled in his new home. 
 And now he had fresh reasons for contempt and 
 disgust of his work. Apart from the inflexibility 
 of the language in which he was compelled by 
 mundane needs to write during two days of each 
 week, he had an increasing difficulty in the con- 
 struction of his English. But he worked enor- 
 mously, and his unsigned articles found a ready 
 acceptance in both Paris and London. His work, 
 however, gave him no satisfaction ; nevertheless, 
 
 290
 
 The Bubble Bursts 
 
 it was the only thing that partly lifted from his 
 mind the burden of regret. 
 
 There came a day in the New Year when he had 
 nothing to write about. A letter from Harmley 
 lay on his desk dated for the previous November : 
 " The West African series was such a success that 
 both Henry and myself would like a further six 
 articles. You might strike out in a new direction, 
 as you have consistently refused to have your 
 matter signed since you left London in the summer. 
 Suppose you send us a few idylls ? We remember 
 your Musings of five years ago, and are convinced 
 that you could succeed in satisfying the public." 
 
 The wind was blowing freely from the Seine. 
 Thoughts of Lily and their child were oppressing 
 him, and work did not seem to assuage the dull 
 pain. The constant endeavour to forget only re- 
 sulted in a more persistent remembrance. He 
 would write Lily's story. Perhaps this would 
 prove to be the true anodyne. The daring thought 
 charmed him, and he commenced to write. 
 
 The spring had not passed before the fulfilment 
 of his conception had come. The Harmleys* 
 cheques were large and their praises extravagant. 
 The reading public was moved as it is but rarely 
 moved, and the expression of his sorrow thrilled 
 many a heart. From the first page to the last of 
 his manuscript there was no mention of Lily, the 
 flower of Grand Bassa, or of himself. But through 
 each one of the idylls moved the mystery and the 
 sympathetic gloom of the coast, the bush, the 
 negro. 
 
 Yet he loathed himself when he thought that 
 Lily had become " copy " for him. " How true 
 
 291
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 it is that familiarity breeds contempt!" he exclaimed 
 in dreary soliloquy. "To the miller the rippling 
 stream is merely so much water placed at his hand 
 by a merciful Providence in order that he might 
 grind his corn. For the farmer the gleaming 
 harvest-field is nothing but stock. To the under- 
 taker death means funerals and gravestones, accom- 
 panied by speculation as to the depth of the chief 
 mourner's pocket. For the journalist, the author, 
 the throbbing tragedy of life becomes manuscript 
 at four guineas per thousand words." In self- 
 abasement he wondered how long he would con- 
 tinue to see remuneration in the innocent girl 
 whom he had wronged. But, in the meantime, 
 the great British public was stirred, and the pub- 
 lishers of his earlier books clamoured for the rights 
 of the idylls. " Others may be blind," they wrote, 
 " and Harmley wouldn't give us any satisfaction 
 regarding the authorship of these sketches ; but we 
 knew that only one man could write with the excess 
 of sentiments shown and yet be wholly pleasing. 
 You must give us the volume." 
 
 The face of Lily was with him always. Now he 
 saw that this desertion would appear quite unin- 
 telligible to her. Perhaps she had learnt to hate 
 him. There was poison in the thought. He 
 could see her fighting bravely against the innuendoes 
 of the people in Bassa, parrying in his defence 
 their suggestions of his baseness, believing in him 
 to the last. He knew too well that he had but to 
 return to her arms to be forgiven. And so three 
 weeks later he was writing home. 
 
 " In answer to your query in the letter just to 
 hand, and your complaint that I have said very 
 
 292
 
 The Bubble Bursts 
 
 little about my environments, this place is thought 
 to be very handsome. But I am inclined to the 
 belief that a certain tiny park in Manchester would 
 appear more attractive to me at present. I have 
 loved Paris always, and I do not recall a prettier 
 picture from nature's gallery than that presented by 
 the gay city with the full glow of summer upon 
 her face. You will recall me as soon as possible, 
 won't you ? You see, I am speaking as though 
 I were under the parental roof again, and had not 
 the responsibilities of manhood. But you will 
 understand me, I know. Your old schoolmate, 
 Dunbar, as I have written before, is kindliness 
 itself, and does not bother me with embarrassing 
 questions. His opinions are strangely attractive to 
 me. We were talking last night of posthumous 
 fame, and he said : * Surely it is the most valuable ! 
 It is little use making the world talk of you while 
 you are alive, for calumny is almost inevitable. 
 While I live I can see all the people that I want to 
 see, and my presence is far more real than if 
 I offered them a volume of my essays for perusal. 
 To be spoken of by the men of two hundred years 
 hence would be a great thing ; but I shall not 
 attain to this. What I confess to caring for is 
 that the pace of the public's forgetfulness be 
 modulated, and that I may be remembered for the 
 fifty years immediately following decease. Death 
 is generally too sudden to be welcome : but if his 
 work can be softened by the promise of a post- 
 humous fame, his presence should more frequently 
 be desired.' He is very bright company, and 
 I delight to spend the evenings with him. He 
 has seen almost everything, and reads in several 
 
 293
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 languages. No news from Bassa, you tell me ? 
 I sometimes forget your determination of a year 
 ago that you would not interfere, and wish that 
 I knew something of my dear ones. But I am 
 looking forward to a reconciliation at no distant 
 date. Greetings." 
 
 Although he wrote home so hopefully, and his 
 face smiled as he occupied himself at his desk, pain 
 was at his heart. A new novel had been planned 
 in his usually systematic way, and he wrote with 
 the zest of genuine feeling. A walk on the 
 boulevards would bring back to his recollection 
 scenes of two summers ago, when Lily and he had 
 paced them together. There were the flowers that 
 his girl-wife had admired and coaxed him to buy, 
 the wonderful shops before which she had paused 
 in bright amaze, the richly sculptured buildings 
 they had passed through. And one day in August 
 he sat with his head bent low, listening dreamily to 
 the chattering of the birds above him. 
 
 " Papa, papa, je vous regarde. Ah ! mediant 
 papa." A little hand touched him on the knee, and 
 a pair of dark, eager eyes looked into his downcast 
 face. The little one had strayed from his nurse, 
 and lifted up his arms trustfully to be taken on 
 Benson's knee. Frank immediately responded, and 
 a course of whispered confidences came from both. 
 For nearly half an hour the man talked airy 
 nonsense to the child in nursery French. 
 
 The mother appeared, in great distress, at the 
 end of what had been only a brief period to 
 Frank. The dusk was falling. The woman was 
 young and dark, and her dress was of simple 
 
 294
 
 The Bubble Bursts 
 
 black. Had she turned her head away he would 
 have exclaimed involuntarily, " Lily ! " 
 
 "Ah, garson, garcon, vous etes mechant," she 
 said in a voice of freshness and heart's love. The 
 little boy was reluctant to go. " Papa voici," he 
 said shrilly, " Voici mon papa." 
 
 Long after they had disappeared down the path 
 Benson sat there. " Papa ! Here is papa ! " He 
 remembered the night when Lily had awakened 
 him to the sound of her sorrow. Then he had 
 promised to be good to her. " Ah, mechant 
 papa." The little voice still rang on. And this 
 was the outcome of his vow : desertion ; base, 
 despicable desertion. 
 
 He bowed his head in his hands as the darkness 
 fell, and hard, dry sobs came from his throat. Far 
 away a bird was calling to her mate. 
 
 295
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 FOREBODINGS 
 " Fear is an enemy to life " 
 
 T ILY was not confident of her husband. Of 
 his love and devotion she was sure, but not 
 of the man himself, complex, emotional. His was 
 a refined, lovable nature she knew, but strangely 
 ruled by his many misconceptions of the propor- 
 tion of things. She could not bring herself to 
 doubt his fidelity, but none the less did a thread of 
 anxiety weave itself through her consciousness as 
 she watched the boat heaving towards the steamer 
 that was to carry him away from her. She could 
 form some definite idea of how her father, or Jack, 
 or Mr. Wrigley would act under certain given 
 circumstances, but of Frank Benson's vagaries she 
 had no adequate conception. And yet how she 
 knew him : a thousand times better than the 
 woman whose pangs at birth had paid the toll for 
 his life. 
 
 Many women, black and white, have endeavoured 
 to solve this vague problem. And most of them 
 have sedulously shut their eyes, lest they should 
 find the answer to the riddle, and the revelation 
 should be disastrous to their love. And such was 
 Lily's attitude now. She had a smile on her face 
 
 296
 
 Forebodings 
 
 and a pain at her heart. She knew the subtle in- 
 accuracies of Frank's character, and she loved him 
 all the more fervently because of them. If he 
 had not been born with this wondrously fasci- 
 nating weakness, this complex unstability, his 
 genius might have been mute. So she waved 
 her handkerchief from the piazza as long as the 
 boat remained in sight, and when the mists had 
 swallowed up the steamer she turned into the 
 house quite contentedly. But after dinner had 
 been cleared away she began to feel an aching 
 numbness at her heart. She sat gazing silently 
 out to sea. The motherly breast of Mrs. Wrigley 
 received her when she tottered into that lady's 
 room at the close of an hour's despondent musings. 
 
 " Why didn't you press the point and go with 
 him, child ? The change would have done you 
 good, and you might have reached the islands 
 before . . ." 
 
 "But suppose I had fallen ill on the steamer. 
 No ; I am better here, and I have always the baby 
 to think of. I shall be very busy indeed during 
 the next few days." 
 
 The elder woman only pressed her closer. 
 
 "Do you know, Mrs. Wrigley, when I was a 
 child I could never reconcile myself to work of 
 a household nature ? But mother always insisted 
 upon me learning to sew neatly. I am glad. 
 Because because now I can do all the linen my- 
 self." 
 
 And then there came a great restlessness upon 
 her, and she would take long, dreary walks. Frank 
 was very dear to her in these days, and she seemed 
 to be journeying with him to the land of pleasure 
 
 297
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 and enjoyment. There is a little hill outside the 
 town from which the ocean can be viewed in one 
 wide expanse of blue to east and to west. Here 
 she spent many hours, and the setting sun would 
 find her looking England-wards, a slim, dainty 
 figure in white and red. 
 
 Her baby was born three weeks later, and she 
 looked eagerly forward to a letter in the course of 
 another few days. She believed that Frank's ab- 
 sence would only be a brief one, and she hummed 
 merrily as she lay between the sheets with the 
 downy head of her boy upon her bosom. But 
 temperament is beyond the governance of expecta- 
 tion, and her heart was sick with a terrible longing 
 within an hour of her most exalted moods. 
 
 Late in the month an English steamer arrived 
 in the harbour. All day long the rain had been 
 drizzling down, and the sea wore an ashen and 
 sober colour. The air was heavy and disquieting. 
 Lily tried to be cheerful, but as the rain dripped 
 upon the panes of the open window she shivered 
 apprehensively. 
 
 She rang the little bell at the side of her bed for 
 the boy. His little woolly head appeared at the 
 door, and Mrs. Wrigley followed him. 
 
 " The mails ? " asked Lily eagerly. 
 
 "They will not be delivered to-night. It is too 
 late now. We shall have them early to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley did her best to fight down the 
 morbidness that had obsessed the mind of the 
 young wife. She read to her from a favourite 
 volume, and when the curtains had been drawn, 
 and the lamps were cheerfully burning, the sooth- 
 
 298
 
 Forebodings 
 
 ing effect of her voice began to make itself apparent. 
 But when the volume of Carey had been laid aside, 
 and the agent came in from his papers and accounts, 
 conversation languished. Ever the rain sounded, 
 broken by intermittent rolls of thunder and livid 
 flashes of lightning obtuse, tortuous, complex. 
 
 When the mails were delivered in the morning 
 there was nothing for Lily. Frank's letter from 
 Liverpool had not yet arrived. From the dining- 
 room, busy with her list of household requisites, 
 Mrs. Wrigley heard the sound of sobbing in the 
 bedroom. She looked round incredulously, then 
 put down her pencil and hurried to the girl. Lily 
 was lying with her face to the wall, weeping with 
 an abandon that shook her shoulders spasmodically. 
 The baby had commenced a feeble wail. 
 
 " What is it, dear ? " she asked, sitting down by 
 her, and endeavouring to lift her into a sitting 
 posture. " You mustn't cry like that. Remember 
 the baby. Tell me, why are you crying ? " 
 
 But Lily's disappointment and grief were too 
 abject, and she could not answer. Thoroughly 
 sympathetic, Mrs. Wrigley held her in her arms, 
 and continued her solicitations. 
 
 " Perhaps someone has hurt you. Who has 
 been this morning ? Was it Maggie or Jack ? Or 
 perhaps Ralph has said something to you he 
 shouldn't have done. What is it, dear ? " 
 
 "I I am afraid that Frank is ill or that some- 
 thing has happened." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the matron heartily. " What 
 should happen to him, child ? Haven't you made 
 the voyage twice yourself ? And he has had no 
 real time to write to you yet. If he came back by 
 
 299
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 a steamer of next month I shouldn't be surprised. 
 You may rest assured that he won't stay away from 
 you too long. Especially " 
 
 She took up the boy, and handed it to Lily. 
 
 " Oh, don't," cried the girl piteously, and she 
 laid the little one down again. " I am not worthy 
 I am not worthy. I am very unhappy indeed." 
 
 The sea was crooning lazily. Mrs. Wrigley 
 looked at her patient in some doubt. 
 
 " You must make an effort, Lily, for baby's 
 sake. Remember, he is a boy, the picture of 
 Frank. Just think ! He may grow up to be a 
 great man, and he will be proud of his mother. 
 Isn't that hope worth thinking of?" 
 
 Lily still repulsed the baby, and buried her face 
 in the pillow with a sob. 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley was not emotional. Experience 
 of the joys and sorrows of the people among 
 whom she had lived so long had given her a 
 practical turn of mind. She grasped the situation 
 at once. Lily thought that she had driven her 
 husband away. " Frank will be back soon," she 
 said encouragingly. 
 
 " It isn't that," the girl gasped painfully. " At 
 least, his absence is not everything. I was hard and 
 cross, and he could never bear that kind of thing. 
 He must have grown tired of me altogether, or he 
 would not have gone." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley saw that for the time being Lily 
 was a child spoiled, petted. She treated her in 
 the same way that she would have treated Maggie 
 ten years before. Her voice was kindly firm. 
 
 "You have been worrying too much. I will 
 send you a cup of good tea, and as soon as possible 
 
 300
 
 Forebodings 
 
 will sit with you. Then you must have a good 
 sleep. To-morrow you will be quite happy 
 again." 
 
 When everything had been carried out as she 
 proposed, and Lily had gratefully swallowed the 
 food, she kissed her tenderly. " I will read Long- 
 fellow to you for a time. Then you must rest." 
 
 An hour later Lily was sleeping peacefully, her 
 little one gently clasped to her breast. And when 
 the morning came in bright and green, with a wind 
 freshening from the sea, she had forgotten all her 
 fears. 
 
 "You slept well ?" asked Mrs. Wrigley, as she 
 opened the windows to the breeze. " At all events 
 your face is happier." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Lily thankfully. " I am quite 
 ashamed for my outburst of petulance. You must 
 have thought me a little goose." 
 
 " Not at all, my dear. We all have our troubles, 
 and the last few weeks have unsettled your peace 
 of mind. It won't be long before we hear some- 
 thing from England. There will be another 
 steamer next week. I daresay he is longing now 
 for the end of his self-imposed probation." 
 
 " I will not be impatient, though his absence 
 is a great pain to me. How proud he will be of 
 the baby ! What shall we call him ? Frank ? Ah, 
 that will be lovely." 
 
 Her powers of self-possession were proven during 
 the next few days. She was now walking about the 
 house, though weak and listless. But her manner 
 remained uniformly hopeful and cheery. The out- 
 ward-bound vessel appeared on the horizon at the 
 appointed date, and as soon as the mail-boat had 
 
 301
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 reached the shore she took down her hat. " I will 
 receive my letters myself," she said. 
 
 The agent laughed as he changed his coat to 
 accompany her. 
 
 " I will come with you. The firm's letters have 
 to be received. It would be too heavy a task for 
 you, Lily." 
 
 " There will be a letter for me, I know," she said, 
 with unerring instinct. 
 
 " I don't doubt it." They passed out of the 
 house together and into the shady lane. Mrs. 
 Wrigley watched them from the piazza. Her re- 
 flections as she busied herself with household 
 matters were not satisfactory. A vague unrest was 
 upon her, and she unconsciously connected this with 
 Lily. " Why, what can happen to the child ? " she 
 cried to herself derisively. 
 
 The hour had passed from ten to eleven before 
 she looked up from her table. " There must be a 
 very big mail," she said. " Or perhaps that fellow 
 Onnet is still fumbling with the bags. It is dis- 
 graceful the system upon which the postal authori- 
 ties work in Liberia. They are as old-fashioned 
 as Adam and as antiquated as the Pharaohs. Why, 
 breakfast will be over an hour late ! " 
 
 This was Mrs. Wrigley's special weakness. Meals 
 must be punctual. If eleven o'clock was the hour 
 appointed for breakfast, then breakfast must be on 
 the table prompt to time. " Where can Ralph be ? 
 And what keeps Lily ? " she said again. The house- 
 boys laid the cloth and asked whether they should 
 send in the soup. Unwilling to begin alone, she 
 went on to the piazza and stood leaning on the rail. 
 
 She waited until one o'clock, and then a little 
 302
 
 Forebodings 
 
 crowd of people appeared upon the road. They 
 were coming from the direction of the post office, 
 and Mrs. Wrigley saluted them with relief. As 
 they came nearer she saw her husband carrying his 
 letters, and then she descried Lily leaning on his 
 arm. There was a distinct difference in her appear- 
 ance. She left the small knot of people with a 
 sickly smile of thanks. 
 
 " Did you get a letter ? " the matron asked, as 
 she followed the girl into the house. 
 
 " Yes. I got a letter." She spoke quietly, and 
 her face was pale. Her voice sounded toneless, 
 empty, dull. 
 
 " I suppose he will be back soon ? Has he made 
 the nice arrangements with his publishers ? " 
 
 " He says that he doesn't know the date of his 
 return." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley was perplexed. 
 
 "What news has he to tell you? Are his people 
 well ? " 
 
 " He does not say much ; only that he will be 
 away a long time." 
 
 " Away a long time, and you alone here with the 
 child ! " cried Mrs. Wrigley indignantly. " What 
 can the man mean ? What is there to keep him in 
 London ? Why didn't he speak openly before he 
 went away instead of playing the dastard like this?" 
 
 The agent had been talking quietly on the 
 stairs with the Liberians, and now he entered. 
 He looked with solicitude at the young wife. 
 
 " Come, Lily, child, let me read your letter," he 
 said gently. 
 
 Lily drew back convulsively. 
 
 " No. It only concerns me. Frank is well, 
 
 303
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 but business detains him in London, and the 
 date of his return is uncertain. I daresay he 
 made up his mind quite suddenly, and his decision 
 is as hasty. Perhaps Harmley is to detain him. I 
 know that he was upset about his series of articles." 
 
 She was fighting for her honour. Her eyes were 
 piteous, and her mouth trembled painfully. " He 
 only said * Au revoir,' and he cannot be long away. 
 Let us have breakfast." 
 
 While the meal was in progress she was in 
 evident distress. " Do you know that the child 
 fainted when she opened her letter, mother ? " 
 asked the agent. "There was quite a large number 
 of people at the office, and several of them came 
 back with us." He had been very much attached 
 to Benson, and his marriage with Lily Summerton 
 had pleased him greatly. But he looked with dis- 
 approval upon his recent trip, and was inwardly 
 fuming now at his neglect of the girl-wife. Lily 
 did not believe that he had deserted her finally. 
 She knew that he was essentially a creature of 
 caprice, and believed unswervingly that he only 
 meant to test her faith in him. He belonged to 
 the town, and he would surely recognise that her 
 happiness depended not upon environment, not 
 upon either affluence or poverty, but upon his 
 presence. A few weeks hence he would send for 
 her. 
 
 Meantime she had to subdue the criticism of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wrigley, and convince them that 
 Frank's actions were wise. She succeeded only in 
 a poor degree, and with her little one at her breast 
 she felt that arguments in favour of his absence 
 were futile. All the night she lay sleeplessly 
 
 304
 
 Forebodings 
 
 counting the long rushes of the waves on to the 
 beach, or listening to the hum of the night insects. 
 
 The weeks fled by, and every steamer found her 
 waiting eagerly for news. " There will be a letter 
 to-day," she said, with a pretty blush. " He will 
 have almost finished his work now, and 1 know his 
 return will be unexpected. He will be writing to 
 me to-day, I know." 
 
 The agent and his wife looked on dumbly, and 
 at last in hot anger Wrigley wrote to the father of 
 the young man whom he had loved. " I cannot 
 forget how much he was to me, dear sir, but if you 
 could see the drawn lines of pain on Lily's face you 
 would understand my anger. This suggestion may 
 appear paradoxical, but his absence for a time is 
 best. Meanwhile I shall prepare the girl's mind 
 for a reconciliation. Their happiness depends upon 
 the renewal of their relations being upon permanent 
 lines. I know Frank, and I am confident that he 
 must learn his lesson slowly. It is some months 
 now since he left Bassa, and, God willing, another 
 six will see the young people happy again." 
 
 305
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 HOPELESSLY ALONE 
 
 " Happiness was born a twin " 
 
 A ND now Lily began to search the magazines 
 
 for news of her husband. The anonymous 
 
 articles in Harmless thrilled her. She read the 
 
 sorrow between the lines. " He is not happy," 
 
 she said. 
 
 She left the house on a fair morning in Septem- 
 ber to receive her books and papers. Almost she 
 had grown callous about the quest of a letter from 
 Frank. Each of his idylls seemed like a message 
 sent to herself alone, and she felt strangely com- 
 forted by their perusal. 
 
 The mail-boat had only just left the side of the 
 steamer. She knew that it would be over an hour 
 before the mails were ready for distribution, so 
 she turned in the direction of Buchanan. Her 
 child was thriving, and had been named after his 
 father. She carried it forward in her arms now, a 
 bundle of delicate whites and greens. As she 
 neared the house that had once been her home 
 she paused irresolutely. " Not to-day," she mur- 
 mured, " I must not look at the old place again 
 until Frank is back in Bassa." 
 
 She sat down on a fallen tree. The boat was 
 
 306
 
 Hopelessly Alone 
 
 coming in the distance, the Liberian flag float- 
 ing from its prow. Tiny lizards basked in the 
 sunlight, and mosses of grey and scarlet, orange 
 and green, grew on the gnarled trunk. The boat 
 had touched the beach, and the mail -bags had 
 disappeared into the little post office before she 
 retraced her steps to the town. There were a good 
 number of packets for her, and one of them con- 
 tained Harmleys. She opened it at the usual page 
 the one page that interested her. There was a 
 paragraph framed in thick black type. 
 
 " We learn with regret, at the moment of going 
 to press, that one of the brightest of our young 
 writers has died in Paris. Frank Benson always 
 struck a strenuous note, and the series of idylls 
 under the title of The African at Home, which has 
 been appearing in our pages since June last, will 
 enhance the fame which his earlier volumes had 
 already secured. The cause of his death we have 
 not learned in detail, but it is believed that he died 
 from poison, self-administered. It will be remem- 
 bered that he married a Liberian girl last year, and 
 during the months that he spent with us in the 
 Temple, prior to his visit to Paris, we observed 
 that he was very constrained and ill at ease. We 
 can only suppose that some matrimonial difficulty 
 had resulted from his selection of a wife, and it is 
 understood that he has left a little one behind him 
 in Grand Bassa. 
 
 "There are established reputations that need no 
 defence. Frank Benson's was a nature that would 
 have no half-measures. Fiction was to him an art, 
 and he was a careful observer of life. He has 
 given to the world three or four wholesome, sane, 
 
 307
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 and interesting volumes. In his books are no 
 impossible situations, no impossible characters. 
 His untimely death, while still in the spring of 
 youth, has deprived us of an author who promised 
 to be one of our most brilliant men. We call the 
 attention of our readers to the present idyll, "How 
 Death came to Him," and this should prove of 
 peculiar interest in view of the author's own tragic 
 decease." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley had been at no loss for occupations 
 during Lily's absence. The garden gate clattered, 
 and she looked down into the lane. Her husband 
 was at his desk, and he cried out, " Mother, here 
 comes Lily." A moment later Lily's foot could be 
 heard ascending the stairs. She faltered at the 
 door of the dining-room, and the agent and his 
 wife knew without speaking that something terrible 
 had happened. Mrs. Wrigley took the baby from 
 her arms. 
 
 " What is the matter ? Has anything occurred ? 
 Have you had another letter from England ? " 
 
 " No. I have had no letter," replied Lily chok- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Then what is it ? " 
 
 " I have killed him. It was all my fault. He 
 loved me always, and I did wrong to marry him. 
 Oh, what have I done that this should have hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 She held out the open magazine despairingly. 
 Mr. Wrigley looked at it with a swift glance of 
 comprehension. A pitiful little cry came from the 
 girl. She was fainting. He held out his arm and 
 caught her as she fell. 
 
 For many days Benson's death seemed a thing 
 
 308
 
 Hopelessly Alone 
 
 incomprehensible to the people of Grand Bassa, and 
 the news fell like a thunderbolt upon Lily. Since 
 the first of his idylls had reached her in the 
 magazines she had felt more contented. His voice 
 had spoken to her constantly. Now she was so far 
 stunned by the news as to be incapable of realising 
 that he would hereafter write from the grave. 
 There would be several of his manuscripts scattered 
 among the London periodicals, and these would all 
 be published with his name above them as " the late 
 Frank Benson." Her cousin, Jack Summerton, 
 sent the last number of Better Things to her, and 
 she saw one of her husband's articles on the front 
 page, with an affectionate memoir inside. 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley talked to her with infinite tender- 
 ness at this time, and strove to comfort her by 
 every means in her power. But she was conscious 
 of a subtle constraint between them, and her best 
 efforts fell fruitless to the ground. She wanted to 
 talk of the dead man, but Lily would not permit 
 this liberty. 
 
 " You must never speak of him as though he 
 had sinned," she insisted. " He was always the 
 soul of honour, and I know that he died thinking 
 that it would make me happier ; not to relieve him- 
 self of misery. Do you think that I could carry his 
 name if he had died for selfish ends ? You must 
 tell the people here that he died suddenly. That is 
 all. He did not take the step lightly, rest assured. 
 I do not understand why, but he must have be- 
 lieved that no other way was open. I must live 
 alone." 
 
 Both the agent and his wife became singularly 
 diplomatic after this. The Liberians had admired 
 
 309
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 the young Englishman, and had looked up to him 
 as a being removed from the ordinary run of things 
 material. They were sympathetic and not a little 
 curious. Why had Benson gone so suddenly to 
 England ? And why had he developed so strange 
 a manner after his marriage with Lily Summerton ? 
 
 From being an object of interest and pity the 
 girl gradually became the greatest mystery in the 
 neighbourhood. Why had she so many English 
 novels sent over from England ? And why did 
 she look so coldly at her neighbours ? " But 
 she don't give herself away much these days," said 
 Ben Onnet, the postmaster, as he sat on the rickety 
 stairs of the office. Lily had just walked past 
 with her little one. " She is very close, I reckon." 
 His companions agreed, and they looked after the 
 retreating white form with grunts and smiles and 
 significant nods. 
 
 The lawyer wrote from the Temple enclosing the 
 usual monthly cheque on Frank's account. It was 
 a formal note of deliverance and contained no word 
 regarding the future. Man is generally stupid, and 
 Benson had failed to see that his provision for Lily 
 would probably be the most cruel thing that he 
 could possibly do. Mrs. Wrigley received the 
 letter from the girl's hand with a look of encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 " You mustn't be unnerved, child," she said. 
 " Both myself and Ralph want you here for a long 
 time yet. But had we not better write to Frank's 
 people at Manchester ? They will probably want 
 you to go to them." 
 
 Lily gave her consent reluctantly. The know- 
 ledge that Mr. and Mrs. Benson would feel it their 
 
 310
 
 Hopelessly Alone 
 
 duty to take over the responsibility of her happi- 
 ness distressed her infinitely. From inquirers she 
 received little sympathy, and she began to hide her 
 sorrow. During the next few weeks she developed 
 a talent for subterfuge that astounded her house- 
 mates. The Liberians had now seen a copy of 
 the English magazine containing Benson's death, 
 and their comments were free and candid. Lily 
 did not know the extent to which her affairs were 
 being discussed, or she would have been even 
 more distrait. She played her part wonderfully, 
 and the strain was intolerable. Her face assumed 
 an awful pallor, and her eyes became restless, 
 feverish, uneasy. Once her voice had been fresh 
 and cheerful ; now it was pathetic and quiet. 
 Looking at her, Mrs. Wrigley's indignation towards 
 the husband was undiminished. 
 
 The girl spent many hours among her flowers. 
 The African summer was near, and the greenness 
 and freshness of the fields comforted her. Her 
 roses, with their fragrance and prettiness, tempted 
 her to a larger tenderness. She carried a bunch 
 into the house, and arranged them on the 
 table. 
 
 " You are looking sad and pale, Lily," said Mrs. 
 Wrigley, who was sewing busily at the window. 
 " You must have a sea trip. Shall we send you 
 down to Monrovia or Cape Palmas by the next 
 steamer ? " 
 
 Lily bent over her flowers. " I am well enough, 
 thank you. I don't think I need a holiday." 
 
 " I know only one thing that would bring the 
 colour into your face. If Frank were alive and able 
 to come back to you ! " 
 
 311
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 The girl was still fingering the roses. " Yes," 
 she said ; " I have thought that myself. It is strange 
 we have had no confirmation of the news of his 
 death from Manchester." 
 
 But she continued to droop, and a doctor had to 
 be called in. She was listless and indifferent. On 
 his second visit he spoke earnestly to Mrs. Wrigley. 
 " If our patient does not brighten up, she will 
 succumb. What are the circumstances of her 
 widowhood ?" 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley's expression was one of despair. 
 " I cannot tell you. He died in Paris quite 
 suddenly early last month, and had been separated 
 from her for some time before that. There was 
 nothing but love between them, but he was called 
 to England on business. After his arrival he sent 
 a letter saying that he had decided to remain in 
 Europe. He promised to come back at some in- 
 definite date, and Lily has never looked up since. 
 She heard that he was dead." 
 
 " Is there any doubt about his death ? Have 
 you heard from his people ? " 
 
 "No. Our only source of information is a 
 paragraph in Harmless Magazine" 
 
 The doctor was off one of the passing steamers, 
 and he was in a hurry to get back on board. 
 
 " I never met the man," he said, " but he must 
 have been a queer fellow to desert a dear little 
 thing like that. I would advise you to write to 
 England at once." 
 
 " We are writing by this steamer," said the 
 matron. 
 
 " I hope the news will be good ! If he is really 
 dead it will go ill with Mrs. Benson. And if he 
 
 312
 
 Hopelessly Alone 
 
 is alive, and does not recall his wife at once, he will 
 find himself a widower." 
 
 A fortnight later Mr. Wrigley received a letter 
 in an unknown hand. He opened it in some 
 surprise, and after reading the opening sentences, 
 called to his wife. Together they read it breath- 
 lessly, and the agent's eyes glittered. " You must 
 go to her," he said. 
 
 Lily had not left her bed for three days. Mrs. 
 Wrigley paused at the open door of her room with 
 her finger on her lips. Her husband tiptoed to her 
 side and looked in. Lily was sitting up in bed, her 
 face buried in a bunch of red and white blossoms. 
 Her hair was loose, and fell over her shoulders 
 as in the days of old. Her lips were moving, and 
 they heard her murmur : 
 
 " Wallflower, lilac, violet, 
 Pansy, mimosa, mignonette, 
 Coronella, tulip, broom, 
 Thyme, and roses sweetly bloom. 
 O'er the hot sand in the sun 
 Tiny lizards bask and run, 
 For . . ." 
 
 She looked up and smiled faintly. " Do you 
 remember those lines of Frank's ? " she asked. 
 " He wrote them the day after he met me, three 
 years ago." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley seated herself at the side of the 
 bed. " You are a little better to-day, dear ? " she 
 asked. " The doctor was quite pleased with your 
 appearance." In view of the letter which she held 
 in her hand she lied glibly. " He says there is a 
 wonderful improvement since he saw you last 
 night." 
 
 313
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 Lily played with the stems of the buds. " Is it 
 only a night since we saw him before ? It seems an 
 age. Oh, if Frank could come back to me ! He 
 cannot be dead." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley was silent for a few minutes. 
 The news would be too overwhelming if she spoke 
 in a hurry. The girl's face was white and her eyes 
 were sad. She laid aside the flowers with a sigh 
 of complete dejection. 
 
 "There is news from England, Lily. . . . Do 
 you really continue to love Frank Benson, or 
 the memory of him ? " 
 
 " With all my heart. I feel that I cannot go on 
 living without him. If he is dead, then I shall 
 die too." 
 
 " And if he is alive, will you continue to 
 live ? " 
 
 Lily flushed and leaned forward eagerly. "Speak," 
 she cried in a tense whisper. " What do you 
 know ? " 
 
 " See ! " Mrs. Wrigley laid the letter on the 
 sheet. " I will leave you for a time. It is from 
 a friend of Frank's. Do you think you can muster 
 enough strength to travel to England ? " 
 
 The girl was elated, transformed, reviviscent. 
 "Come back to me soon," she said. "I knew 
 that there was good news coming. Frank can't be 
 dead. It is because I have been weakening to 
 despair that all my strength has left me. I will go 
 to him if he is sick, and make him well again. He 
 will be so glad to see me ; and then there is little 
 Frank." 
 
 Mrs. Wrigley left the room, and Lily read her 
 letter slowly, and with panting breath.
 
 Hopelessly Alone 
 
 " 59, RUE RIVOLI. 
 "Ralph Wrigley, Esq., Grand Bassa. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR, No doubt this letter will 
 surprise you a little, as it is many months since 
 I had occasion to visit the West Coast, and you 
 may have forgotten me. It is only the great 
 interest I feel in the young journalist who spent two 
 years with you in Bassa which persuades me to 
 write to you. I am spending the autumn in Paris, 
 and here I met Benson in one of the cafes. I had 
 been observing his progress with some interest, and 
 his articles in the English magazines had convinced 
 me of his genius. But I noticed a growing 
 despondency in his bearing, and marked his misery 
 with concern." 
 
 " Who is the writer ? " murmured Lily. The 
 penmanship was unfamiliar. She turned to the 
 signature, " E. A. Sutcliffe Pyne." 
 
 The letter continued : " You are probably aware 
 of the principal reason of his voyage to England 
 last year. Perhaps you have more data than 
 myself. I cannot tell you what led him to take 
 the step which resulted in the announcement of 
 his death. I have my own conjectures, of course, 
 and the wife he has left behind him is connected 
 with them. He was very depressed, and in the 
 course of conversation with me spoke very 
 feelingly of the young lady. I take it that he had 
 absented himself without due reason, and was 
 then too ashamed to return. A few weeks after 
 our first meeting I called at his rooms to find him 
 in the condition which had the effect of leading to 
 a serious illness. He had taken strychnine. For 
 
 3iS
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 many days we deemed recovery impossible, and 
 this fact led to the pre-announcement of his death. 
 He is now convalescent, I am pleased to say. Mr. 
 Benson has just travelled to Paris, and asks that 
 Frank shall return to Manchester at an early oppor- 
 tunity. I sincerely trust that the false news has not 
 upset you. It is extremely difficult to controvert 
 these statements once they have been put into 
 circulation. . . ." 
 
 Lily read no more. Nothing further mattered. 
 Frank was alive. His object had failed. A great 
 surge of joy robbed her of every faculty of feeling. 
 She closed her eyes, and the letter fluttered to the 
 floor. 
 
 316
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE FULFILMENT OF THE 
 EMOTIONAL IDEA 
 
 " Govern yourself, be true to the best in yourself, and you 
 will be happy" 
 
 "DENSON sat on the verandah of the house in 
 the Rue Rivoli and meditated. His friend 
 Pyne had just left. In his hand he held a letter 
 from his father : " You may expect me within a 
 week." The reflections that held his mind were of 
 a desultory kind, if one might judge from his face. 
 But that they were not altogether unpleasant was 
 evident. From below him came the innumerable 
 cries of the street, strong, persistent. A brown- 
 faced bonne would occasionally pass with her 
 children, and a pavement artist was obliterating 
 his yesterday's pictures across the way, preparatory 
 to opening his new academy. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " thought Frank lazily. " He 
 must be a student from the Latin Quarter fallen on 
 evil days." He took quite an interest in the pro- 
 gress of the new pictures. Soon the man took off 
 his coat and attacked the pavement in real earnest. 
 Within an hour there were half a dozen highly 
 coloured sketches stretched over the flags. A girl 
 was crying her flowers. " Violettes ! Roses ! Fleur
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 de Us ! Des fleurs pour embaumer la maison I 
 yiolettes ! " 
 
 What final feeling of despondency had decided 
 Frank to attempt suicide it would be hard to say. 
 It was a year now since he had come to Paris at the 
 suggestion of his father ; a year and a half since 
 he had left Grand Bassa. He looked back upon his 
 early married experiences with deep regret, and 
 recognised his follies. His one present wish was 
 to arrange a speedy reconciliation. The servant 
 aroused him from his thoughts. She carried a card. 
 
 " The gentleman he no say his name. But he 
 looks like monsieur." Frank glanced at the card, 
 and his father entered quickly. They looked at 
 each other for a moment in some embarrassment. 
 
 " Dad, I am awfully pleased to see you," ex- 
 claimed the young man. His looks did not contra- 
 dict the tone in which he spoke. " It seems an age 
 since we met before, doesn't it ? " 
 
 " You seem to have bettered by the change, lad, 
 
 despite the But never mind that now. How 
 
 long is it since you learned to waste your time ? 
 I have been watching you for the last hour from 
 the window of the hotel opposite." 
 
 " Oh ! one learns wisdom in Paris. I remember 
 how you used to upbraid me because of my ex- 
 cessive energy. Since I have awakened from my 
 dream, or I should say since the nightmare of 
 the past year has been thrown off, I have fallen 
 back into the mood that possessed me when first 
 I met Lily. I delight in thinking of anything or 
 nothing now. From the time of my illness- 1 have 
 done nothing at my manuscripts." 
 
 The father smiled, and they drifted into the kind 
 
 318
 
 Fulfilment of the Emotional Idea 
 
 of broken talk which it had been their custom to 
 use in the older days. It was decided ultimately 
 that Frank should return to Manchester, and from 
 thence write to Lily. 
 
 On the day before they were ready to depart 
 Pyne called. The morning had a touch of cold, 
 and the east wind was blowing across the roads, 
 swirling dust into little clouds, and eddying the 
 water in the fountain basins of the square. 
 
 The clocks were chiming eleven, and the father 
 and son were partaking of a late breakfast. Pyne 
 walked in with his unconcerned gait, and the men 
 greeted each other cordially. 
 
 " Will you have some breakfast ? " asked Frank, 
 drawing up another chair. 
 
 "Delighted." He sat down at the table and 
 made himself comfortable. It was one of his 
 characteristics that he never entered a friend's 
 house without making an elaborate show of mean- 
 ing to stay an indefinite time. 
 
 "I was pleased when I heard that you were in 
 Paris, Mr. Benson, and I felt that I must come 
 round and say good-bye before you went away. 
 Next month I have to go to China. Colonel Kelly 
 has exhausted the West Coast of Africa, and my 
 publishers are inexorable in their demands for copy. 
 Of course I might sit down and collect my descrip- 
 tive material from the British Museum." His eyes 
 twinkled. " I know that two of our best novels 
 upon the Holy Land were written without a visit. 
 But I always like to do things properly myself." 
 
 Mr. Benson and Frank listened amusedly, and 
 the famous journalist rattled on. 
 
 " I was talking about Frank at the club just 
 
 319
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 before I left London. Quite a coincidence that I 
 should find him here, wasn't it ? I never dreamed 
 that he had hidden himself in Paris. There was 
 Phillips and Yates and old Harding. You will 
 remember old Harding, Frank ? Wrote the book 
 that Chambers dramatised last season with such 
 success. Swears a great deal, and is fond of the 
 ladies. He asked particularly after you wanted 
 to know where your blasted fame was, and so on. 
 It seemed a pity (I am quoting him, so don't take 
 offence. Of course, I know Mrs. Frank Benson, and 
 that makes all the difference) that one of the most 
 brilliant young journalists living should be silenced 
 by a damned black girl. He didn't know then that 
 the Harmley articles were yours, or he would have 
 spoken differently." 
 
 Frank's face had flushed hotly, and his eyes 
 flashed. But he rose from the table with a laugh. 
 
 " Poor old Harding ! He doesn't know one 
 half the truth, or he would curse me instead of 
 Lily." 
 
 They sat out on the verandah, and Frank pro- 
 duced his wines. " I have some Chartreuse for 
 you, dad. You take whisky, don't you, Pyne ?" 
 
 The originator of Colonel Kelly laughed. 
 " Thanks, old chap. I am delighted to see that 
 your recent escapade hasn't spoiled your memory. 
 Whisky for travellers, wines for stay-at-homes." 
 
 He liberally helped himself, and then sat watch- 
 the passers-by. Frank rolled cigarettes for them 
 all, and there was a long silence while they puffed 
 out the blue smoke. 
 
 Mr. Benson broke the silence. " I think you 
 mentioned in one of your letters that Mr. Pyne 
 
 320
 
 Fulfilment of the Emotional Idea 
 
 had been married thrice or was it four times ? 
 The position appears rather illogical when one re- 
 members how much he has travelled." 
 
 Frank laughed gaily. " Tell us, Pyne, old man, 
 who is the latest lady the one who is the most 
 wonderful, most sympathetic, most idyllic creature 
 that you have ever seen, not excepting the sweet 
 wives who are underneath the ground." 
 
 Pyne moved a trifle uneasily. 
 
 " You are always joking me about my weakness ; 
 but when I get a wife I don't run away from her, 
 you know. You are right, all the same. I am a 
 widower again, and the present little woman is to 
 marry me before I sail. I must introduce you to 
 her in London if we have time. She is so bright 
 and merry. By Jove! an hour's talk with her gave 
 me copy enough to last a week." 
 
 " Is she a widow ? But I forgot that goes 
 without saying." 
 
 " Yes. Her husbands she was married twice 
 did not treat her at all well. One was an Indian 
 officer on leave, and he basely left her behind him 
 three weeks after marriage." He paused in some 
 amazement as his companion laughed. 
 
 " Why, my dear Pyne, isn't that your usual 
 course ? Your wives have never travelled with 
 you." 
 
 " This one is different. She will accompany me 
 to China." 
 
 He drank some more whisky with appreciation. 
 
 " But let us leave my affairs, and talk of some- 
 one else. I suppose there can be no doubt of 
 Frank's position now ? His happiness ought to 
 be assured." 
 
 x 321
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 He looked dubiously at the younger journalist. 
 
 " It is a perplexing question why women care so 
 much for us," he continued. " But I am convinced 
 that that little Liberian girl is only waiting to be 
 asked for forgiveness. Until recently Frank had 
 used to disturb my confidence. He often struck 
 me as being cold and reserved. But I haven't 
 much fear now." 
 
 Frank filled a glass of wine for himself. " Don't 
 spare me, Pyne. I know that I have much to 
 learn. I shall try to make Lily happy, I swear." 
 
 " You seemed to me I speak candidly to be 
 the kind of man who would break a woman's heart 
 for the sake of a caprice or a whim. Your aesthetic 
 tastes made you delight in mental excitement, and 
 you morbidly enjoyed the pain of separation. I 
 know what women are, Frank, and with a man of 
 your temperament for a husband, they would die 
 sooner than break a silence." 
 
 The young man leaned over and pressed his 
 hand. He had never cared for Pyne so much as 
 he did at this moment. His words were profound, 
 and he realised the truth of them. 
 
 " Father, I will cable for Lily, and thus pave the 
 way for my letter," he said suddenly. "Poor 
 child ! I ought to have remembered her position 
 long ago, instead of leaving her to waste her 
 precious youth alone." 
 
 After Pyne had bidden him good-bye in the 
 event of their not meeting again before his voyage 
 to China, and his father had gone to his hotel to 
 finish packing, he sat in the window musing, and 
 his thoughts turned incessantly to Grand Bassa and 
 to Lily. A year and a half since he had seen her, 
 
 322
 
 Fulfilment of the Emotional Idea 
 
 eighteen long months of toil ! He drew from his 
 pocket one of the little notes which she had written 
 to him upon some trifling matter during their 
 engagement in Liberia, and looked at the delicate 
 superscription. Never since he had left her had 
 she seemed so near to him as now while he read 
 her words of confidence and faith. Here, in this 
 same rue, they had sat and talked, they had loved 
 to quarrel and to make it up again. Oh ! the 
 sweet atonement of kisses and caresses. Walking 
 through yonder leafy avenues she had given him 
 tender glimpses of her fantastic thoughts, fresh and 
 wild and childlike. She had been serious and gay 
 by turns. 
 
 Why had he left her ? He had gone away, he 
 told himself persuasively, because he had been 
 afraid of the situation. Their temperaments were 
 different, and he had thought that misery would 
 ensue if they dwelt together. But the argument 
 seemed weak, foolish, ridiculous. He loved her ; 
 she loved him. What else mattered ? Rising 
 hastily, he took up his pen and tore down a piece 
 of paper from the hook above his desk. 
 
 " Forgive and return. Manchester our home 
 always. I love you. Come, Frank." 
 
 He wrote eagerly and rang the bell. " Take this 
 cable to the post office at once," he said to the 
 girl, handing her two sovereigns, "and then call 
 at the hotel and tell my father that I wish to see 
 him in my rooms." 
 
 What would Lily be doing, he wondered, when 
 his cable arrived ? With the fascination of his love 
 upon him he wrote a passionate plea for forgive- 
 ness, sealed it, and then turned to his task of 
 
 323
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 stripping his wall of their photograph with a more 
 satisfied conscience. 
 
 It was a particularly bright and sunny day in 
 October when Frank and his father returned to 
 Manchester. To be appropriate to his neglect and 
 folly Frank felt that the weather should have been 
 dull and heavy ; but he was inwardly pleased. " It 
 promises that success and happiness are to be ours 
 at last," he thought. As the train sped past all the 
 old familiar bridges and cuttings between London 
 and his native town he grew happy and buoyant. 
 He was longing for the panacea of all ills, the 
 sympathy of a home. " Lily and I will keep open 
 house," he said delightedly, "and she will make a 
 lovely hostess." 
 
 324
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 DRAWING NEARER 
 
 " Nay, don't lose heart ; great men and mighty nations have 
 learned a great deal when they practise patience " 
 
 T ILY was transfigured. As the next few days 
 passed she rapidly gained strength. She took 
 more interest in her child, and her pride was 
 boundless. At first she had been gentle to it, but 
 no satisfaction had been derived from its con- 
 templation. Now she fondled it always, and her 
 face glowed with new love as she bent over his 
 cot. Mrs. Wrigley found her humming a scrap 
 of a Liberian lullaby as she sat by the side of his 
 cradle : 
 
 " Down de lonely valley dot we older folk call sleep. 
 
 Go ma honey go ma baby ; 
 Over de big boulders let yer li'l black legs creep, 
 Till de morn go ma baby. 
 Byo, byo, It' I baby boy 
 
 Byo, ma baby, 
 Oh, P II kiss yer I? I peepers, 
 As dey close and keep yo' safe, 
 Mammy's li'l baby boy" 
 
 The words in the quaint negro dialect came from 
 the girl's lips with charming freshness. 
 
 "Why, what nonsense are you singing, Lily?" 
 
 325
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 cried the matron, her face radiant with delight. 
 " That letter seems to have done you more good 
 than all the medicines in the world. I have 
 brought you some soup. And you must sleep 
 for a while. There will be another steamer in 
 to-morrow, and I want you to be ready for good 
 news. When the doctor returns homeward-bound, 
 we must ask him to take you with him." 
 
 But Lily did not sleep. The baby nestled close 
 to her, and she listened to the sound of the sea 
 with all the old interest and satisfaction. The 
 kruboys were noisily putting a boat into the 
 water, and their clear cries carried jovially to her 
 over the yard and beach between. The sky was 
 bright, and the trees rustled pleasantly as the wind 
 shook their feathery heads. A pepper-bird was 
 calling to its mate, " Coo-oo, coo-oo-a." Frank 
 would be home in Manchester now, she did not 
 doubt, with Christmas hot in Liberia, cold in 
 England near at hand. Six weeks off! There 
 would be just time enough to go to him. 
 
 The happiness of Lily made itself felt through- 
 out the house. Maggie was now a mother, and 
 Jack Summerton talked endlessly of his little 
 daughter. The young couple, so completely 
 happy themselves, had watched Lily's misery in 
 great commiseration. Now they smiled upon her 
 and encouraged her all they could. Mrs. Wrigley 
 recovered her wonted pleasure in the discharge of 
 her household duties, and the agent looked less 
 harassed and worried. The young Englishman 
 had sinned greatly, but Lily desired to be in his 
 presence, and she must have her way. Wrigley 
 did not know whether their stay in England was 
 
 326
 
 Drawing Nearer 
 
 meant to be permanent, but he mentally promised 
 to make the young people happy if they returned 
 to Liberia at any time. 
 
 Frank's cable arrived, and stilled all questionings. 
 Lily was to stay in England. The doctor returned 
 a week later, and Mrs. Wrigley met him with an 
 exalted countenance. " You won't need to give 
 Mrs. Benson any more medicine," she said posi- 
 tively. 
 
 " What ! Has her husband returned ? He was 
 not dead ? " 
 
 "He has not come back. But she is going to 
 him. It was the long absence from her husband 
 that was sapping all her vitality. He cables that 
 his love is unchanged, and I am sure that Lily's 
 never faltered. So why shouldn't she go to him 
 and by your steamer, too ? " 
 
 The doctor smiled incredulously. "The young 
 lady was at a very low ebb a month ago. It will 
 need a long recuperation of her strength before she 
 is able to travel." 
 
 But Mrs. Wrigley would not be denied. "There 
 are more medicines in the world than those con- 
 tained in doctors' chests and chemists' laboratories. 
 The mind is superior to the body. Come and see." 
 
 Being a man of many years' experience of the 
 West Coast, and ever conscious of its enervating 
 tendencies, he was quite unprepared for the im- 
 provement that had taken place since last he saw 
 Lily. When they entered she was bending over 
 the cradle, her nightdress falling around her, and 
 a slight flush on her face. She turned her head 
 and went on humming to the child, " Mammy's 
 li'l baby boy." 
 
 327
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 It was with an expression of astonishment that 
 the doctor looked at her, and this grew more 
 animated as he took up the baby. " Why, the 
 change even extends to the youngster ! " he ex- 
 claimed. " I've known your face for many years, 
 Mrs. Benson. I remember seeing you in your 
 father's house a long, long time ago. You look 
 more like your natural self than I have beheld you 
 since your marriage." 
 
 " May I go with you ? " 
 
 "Yes, you may make the voyage. The only 
 antidote to your sickness was desire to live and an 
 optimistic view of the future. You have obtained 
 both these in my absence, and I think I shall ask 
 Wrigley to pay his wife my fees." 
 
 "And I may actually go with you to-morrow ? 
 Even that length of time seems too long. Won't 
 the boat sail to-night ? " 
 
 Lily laughed merrily at her audacity, and to the 
 listeners in the dining-room as well as the bedroom 
 it was the sweetest of hearing. " I shall get up 
 to-day properly and have my breakfast in the 
 dining-room. Tell the boys to lay my plate, will 
 you, dear ? " Mrs, Wrigley looked at the doctor 
 interrogatively. 
 
 " I think we may concede that. You have 
 worked such a wonderful cure, Mrs. Wrigley, 
 that I feel my earlier judgment to be vitiated." 
 
 The girl rose and kissed the matron enthusiasti- 
 cally. 
 
 " No one knows what a witch she is. We shall 
 have the natives trying their fetish on her soon." 
 
 The doctor returned to the steamer in one of the 
 firm's boats. Mrs. Wrigley's eyes were beaming. 
 
 328
 
 Drawing Nearer 
 
 She helped Lily from her room, and after a few 
 faltering steps the girl stood on the piazza, support- 
 ing herself by the rail. 
 
 " What a pretty place Bassa is ! Look at those 
 sails touched by the sun, and see the foam on the 
 rocks. I had almost entirely overlooked the sea. 
 Oh ! those weary weeks in bed, waiting, waiting. 
 Yonder are the sheds. And my little garden is 
 not quite bare. Let me go down to-night." 
 
 " The stairs are perilous, child. But perhaps we 
 can manage it together." 
 
 So it was that Lily descended to the yard and 
 the beach. She sat down on a garden seat among 
 her flowers, and found an ingenuous element of 
 newness in things that had once been over- 
 familiar. 
 
 When at last she returned to her easy-chair on 
 the piazza she realised her weakness. 
 
 " But I need not do anything on the steamer. 
 I have a full three weeks in which to prepare for 
 the meeting." 
 
 In asserting that the mind is stronger than the 
 body Mrs. Wrigley had only expressed a truth 
 which everyone who has experienced illness and 
 pain will readily grant. But Lily's vivacity that 
 night was unusual. She seemed to be making 
 prodigious efforts to recover. The weak frame 
 mutinied, and she was prostrate when Mrs. Wrigley 
 led her to her room at nine o'clock. So that the 
 kind-hearted woman broached a proposal to her 
 husband in the privacy of their room a little later. 
 At first the agent refused, and then his affection 
 for the girl conquered, and he agreed. " Don't 
 stay too long, mother. There is plenty of worry 
 X2 329
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 in the business now, especially since Benson left us, 
 and I need your sustaining presence." 
 
 Early the next morning Lily had her chair 
 cushioned, and sat out in the open air. Maggie 
 and Jack came to say " Good-bye," and the young 
 negro openly showed his regret at the parting. 
 " We were such friends in the old days, Lily," he 
 said. "But you are looking much better, and 
 when you are a great man's wife yonder you must 
 write to me regularly." 
 
 Lily took her cousin's baby from the arms of 
 Maggie. 
 
 " What a fine little girl she is ! Mine is asleep in 
 his cot." 
 
 " It is indeed true ! " cried Mrs. Wrigley. "For 
 the first month after its birth it was a delicate, tiny 
 thing, always puking and crying. But now he puts 
 even your little one. to shame. Shall I bring him 
 to you ? " 
 
 Lily sat with the two little ones on her knees. 
 Maggie's child was almost black, with curls of 
 glossy wool. Lily's looked purely English, and 
 his hair was of a golden brown. They stood gazing 
 at the children in an attitude of silent veneration. 
 Thus do we all worship at the shrine of innocence 
 and love. 
 
 " Frank is his father over again," said Maggie. 
 " Look at the hair and the firm set of the mouth." 
 
 "He is very like himself, to me. I wouldn't 
 change one of his features for a thousand pounds." 
 She laughed and looked cheerfully at them. 
 
 " Lily, I am going with you," said Mrs. Wrigley 
 suddenly. " You are not so strong as you think, 
 and Ralph agrees that the voyage will do me good." 
 
 330
 
 Drawing Nearer 
 
 The girl smiled delightedly, and they drifted into 
 talk of many things, past and present, dear to them 
 all. 
 
 After this declaration of Mrs. Wrigley's, there 
 was little hesitancy in the preparation of their 
 trunks. True, Lily had still a look of delicacy, 
 but her young beauty was enhanced by her frail- 
 ness, and her eyes gazed out bravely upon the 
 future. Her face was pale, but there was now no 
 sickliness in its colour. " To think that I wasted 
 the summer in bed ! " she cried in derision. 
 
 The remainder of that last day in Bassa was 
 spent in completing the wardrobe of the baby, and 
 in making such alterations in the dresses of Lily 
 as suggested themselves to Mrs. Wrigley. 
 
 The captain arrived for them early in the after- 
 noon, and Mr. Wrigley accompanied them to the 
 steamer. There were sincere words of parting, and 
 the captain moved from his anchorage in the dim- 
 ness of the approaching night. The agent had 
 suggested that they should cable their return 
 immediately they touched Freetown, Sierra Leone. 
 But Lily demurred at this as she sat with Mrs. 
 Wrigley on the upper deck. " Frank must see me 
 unexpectedly," she said. " I will write to him 
 from Liverpool, and ask him to meet the train upon 
 its arrival in Manchester." 
 
 The steamer reached the Prince's stage in the 
 course of three weeks. It was not in one of the most 
 imposing streets in Liverpool that they had halted, 
 but Lily felt that its appearance of rest would serve 
 to bring her nearer to the life for which she was 
 longing. 
 
 After she had retired to her room that night and
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 her letter to Frank had been despatched, she found 
 it impossible to rest. Ever the thought that she 
 was to see her husband on the morrow persisted in 
 her mind. Mrs. Wrigley came in quietly. 
 
 "Are you asleep, Lily ? " she asked. 
 
 " I cannot sleep. But 1 am very tired, all the 
 same." 
 
 " It has been a long passage, I know. However, 
 it is over at last." 
 
 "Yes. We have reached the end of our journey 
 almost. I hope Frank is well, and won't be dis- 
 turbed by our unexpected arrival." 
 
 " Don't fear, child. You may be sure that he 
 will be waiting for you long before the train reaches 
 the station. Good night. Try to sleep, for you 
 will have a long day to-morrow." 
 
 It was the early dawn before she slept, but the 
 quiet watching through the hours of the night had 
 given her a great peace. 
 
 332
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 HOME AT LAST 
 
 "A brave old house ! a garden full of bees, 
 
 Large dropping poppies and green hollyhocks, 
 With butterflies for crowns, tree peonies, 
 And pinks, and goldylocks." 
 
 TTHE faculty of retaining a knowledge of past 
 events is frequently a source of neither purple 
 moments of rapture nor hours of thronging 
 delight. Memory is ever a capricious maiden, 
 releasing the golden dust and greedily retaining 
 her grasp of the dross. For when we indulge in 
 retrospect we are surprised to find how small and 
 insignificant are the accidents that make up the 
 variegated tissue of our lives. A flower, dried, 
 faded, pressed sentimentally between the leaves of 
 our favourite Shelley, brings before our mental 
 vision not a picture of this token worn at the 
 throat on a bright spring day of one beloved who 
 is now, alas ! beyond the bourn : a dream of 
 passion, of blood, and of tears. What we see is 
 the dress she wore, the lace at her wrists ; and we 
 turn to compare the actual woman at our side with 
 the ideal girl of the might-have-been. 
 
 Frank Benson's walk to the railway station that 
 morning marked the turning-point of his life. 
 
 333
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 He felt himself to be no longer an apprentice, 
 clumsy, inept in the ways of love. Whatever he 
 had lacked of worldly wisdom was now acquired ; 
 whatever he had possessed in surfeit of false 
 sentimentality was now eliminated. These changes 
 had come upon him suddenly, but he knew that 
 during his two years' probation he had been labour- 
 ing leisurely but painfully upon his temperament. 
 He had lived his books rather than operated upon 
 them with the old earnestness of the mere artist 
 in words. Not that he could have indicated any 
 remarkable degree of progress. But the change 
 was there internal, positive, psychological. 
 
 He did not yet feel absolved from repentance. 
 Had he made better use of his opportunities he 
 might have had many months of ideal happiness 
 behind him. And Lily had been living, he felt, in 
 a confident knowledge that the victory was inexor- 
 ably hers, while he, poor fool, had been intent upon 
 watching the development of a rash experiment, 
 the revelations of a mind harassed. Oh, the 
 madness of his actions ! He felt that she was now 
 to be presented to him in a newer light ; that she 
 had been serenely triumphant all the time, while he 
 had been grovelling in the dust at her feet. That 
 she belonged to him he could not doubt ; but she 
 belonged also to the simple, the noble in life. He 
 had been compelled to rise in order that he might 
 take his place at her side. 
 
 They clasped hands on the platform as though 
 they had parted yesterday. But there was a 
 glorious light shining in the depths of her eyes. 
 He took his child in his arms, and bent over it 
 with a sob that threatened to choke him. Mrs. 
 
 334
 
 Home at Last 
 
 Wrigley hovered in the background, tearful, sym- 
 pathetic. 
 
 " I am with Lily." 
 
 "I am again with Frank." 
 
 " Our little one, our little one." 
 
 As she walked by his side, along the less- 
 frequented ways, it came to him again and again, 
 as a wonderful disclosure, that she belonged to him. 
 Every other woman on the street appeared in com- 
 parison insignificant. Her words carried in them 
 the old sweet confidence. They were neither an 
 enigmatical screen for epigram, nor a rush of 
 vacuities. He was admitted within her thoughts, 
 and under the calm of her loving presence he forgot 
 the burning expressions of regret that had been 
 lingering on his tongue. He was at peace. She 
 was his. Let that suffice. 
 
 When they arrived at length within the porch 
 of their home, he had grown to look upon her as 
 the one essential element in his life. She was a 
 woman, exalting and uplifting him by her good- 
 ness. 
 
 The maturity of Frank Benson's work has been 
 wondered at by his readers, but the reason is not 
 far to seek. Whatever his hand performs is tested 
 by the memory of his desertion of the dearest girl 
 in the world. All women are, by reason of those 
 bitter experiences, open to the probing instruments 
 of his genius. He has described and modelled 
 them with the intensity of feeling unalienable from 
 suffering : keen, poignant, unforgettable. 
 
 But he is happy at last. Little Frank lies crowing 
 in his crib. The author of Musings sits at his 
 writing-table, busy with his proofs. 
 
 335
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 Says Lily, as she leans over towards him from 
 the cradle-side 
 
 " Do you know that you are one of the most 
 conceited of mortals, Frank Benson ? " Her eyes 
 sparkle with fun, and she nods her head pleasantly 
 as he looks at her inquiringly. 
 
 He knows there is a great deal of truth in her 
 words, and winces a little. For a minute he does 
 not speak, then a smile creeps over his mouth, and 
 he says 
 
 " I have very little to be conceited about, Lily 
 except my wife." 
 
 "And your child," she retorts merrily. 
 
 For reply he leans over and kisses her. And he 
 is indeed one of the proudest of mankind as he 
 lays down his pen to take their little one in his 
 arms. 
 
 THE END 
 
 336
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 T IBERIA, the principal scene of this story, lies immedi- 
 ^"^ ately below Sierra Leone, on the West Coast of Africa. 
 It is situated between 4 20' and 7, 20' north latitude, and is 
 the only negro republic, properly so called, in Africa. It 
 was originally established in 1822 as a home for the freed 
 slaves of America. At the onset, however, the United 
 States Government disclaimed any responsibility in the 
 working of the state. While assuring the negroes that it 
 was willing to offer them the assistance of its good offices in 
 preventing any oppression on the part of neighbouring 
 colonies, the then Secretary of State, Mr. Upsher, said : 
 " Their authorities are responsible for their own acts, and 
 they certainly cannot expect the support and countenance of 
 this Government in any act of injustice towards individuals 
 or nations. But as they are themselves nearly powerless, 
 they may rely, for the protection of their rights, upon the 
 justice and sympathy of other powers." 
 
 The American Colonisation Society bought the first piece 
 of land from the blacks, and the capital city of the Republic, 
 Monrovia, is built upon it. There cannot possibly be a 
 more heroic portion of human history than that which re- 
 counts the troubles of this first little band of colonists on 
 Cape Montserrado. Under the gallant generalship of a 
 white man named Ashmun the thirty-five freed slaves held 
 back the furious assaults of fifteen hundred savages. 
 
 337
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 The scenes of bloodshed that characterised the earliest 
 efforts of the American negroes have never been adequately 
 described ; but I am presently working upon another novel 
 which will, I hope, elucidate the many curious psychological 
 problems of negro emancipation with which civilised man 
 to-day is confronted in Africa. During the years that I 
 have spent in the Republic I have talked with veterans who 
 remember these stirring times, and such a story should meet 
 with a good reception. The aborigines were and are to- 
 day in many portions of the country grossly superstitious, 
 and resisted the control of their black-skinned brothers with 
 great pertinacity. This part of the coast was one of the 
 most lucrative centres of the slave trade, and the coast tribes 
 carried on a system of barter in the people of the interior. 
 Spaniards seem to have been the worst white transgressors, 
 and having no conception of the ethical wrong done to their 
 fellow-creatures by selling their bodies, the Kru tribe made 
 no hesitation in disposing of them at a good profit. 
 
 With the advent of Christian negroes from America the 
 opposing forces of freedom and slavery, science and super- 
 stition, came face to face. Each succeeding year the 
 Colonisation Society sent out further numbers of freed 
 slaves, and as time went on the antagonism became more 
 and more apparent. Bloody wars were constantly waging 
 between the aborigines and the immigrants. But after 
 twenty years' persevering effort the colonists were successful, 
 and to-day there is peace within the borders of the Republic, 
 a peace which has remained almost unbroken for a period of 
 half a century. 
 
 During the earliest years of the colony there were many 
 political grievances, and it was through the agency of these 
 that the Government of the United States disclaimed any 
 accountability for its operation. Great Britain openly sus- 
 tained the claims of her traders, and the Colonisation 
 
 338
 
 Postscript 
 
 Society, perhaps in alarm, advised the Liberian settlers to 
 proclaim themselves as an independent state. This was 
 done on the 26th day of July in the year 1847, anc ^ a 
 republican form of government was planned, modelled upon 
 that of the United States. From that date Liberia has been 
 recognised as a sovereign state. 
 
 The problem of my story is, I believe, new. That a 
 marriage between an Englishman and a negress may be 
 uniformly happy is testified by the examples met with in 
 America. But that the culture of the black girl may rise 
 superior to that of an educated white man is hardly con- 
 ceivable. However, the emotional senses of sympathy and 
 incompatibility are carefully described in the story, and I 
 have treated my plot as delicately as was possible. In study- 
 ing the temperament of the negro races living in Northern 
 Africa to the Western Windward it must be remembered 
 that there have been higher types of civilisation in touch 
 with them for many centuries. Indeed, quite apart from 
 Arab culture, which has made itself strongly felt both in 
 Sierra Leone and Liberia, the European nations have exer- 
 cised great influence over the peoples of the coast. Thus it 
 is that the Liberian, whether an immigrant or a native, is 
 educated in an unique degree. But despite the civilisation 
 realised upon the coastline, the native of the interior remains 
 practically unchanged. We might compare the effect of 
 these higher types to a garment with a bright fringe. 
 Culture lines the extreme coast, but interiorward is the dull 
 pattern of the past unchanged, sable, unadorned. 
 
 The relationship between the Liberian and the European 
 Governments is an interesting one. I cannot fail to recog- 
 nise from long acquaintance with the negro that he is not 
 without a certain innate dignity, and that he displays noble 
 human traits under proper circumstances and a congenial 
 environment. 
 
 339
 
 Merely a Negress 
 
 Fiction must be amusing. But it is not amusing first 
 and instructive afterwards. My novel deals with circum- 
 stance, which is the result of the period ; with character, 
 which is the result of mental divergence ; with social life, 
 which is the result of intercourse. Frank Benson is ad- 
 mittedly a prig with qualities. Lily Summerton is an angel 
 with faults. If I have portrayed true types, I am well 
 content. I do not ask my readers to admire unreservedly, 
 and an occasional jar to their sensibilities would be only the 
 end desired. In Merely a Negress I have endeavoured to 
 capture the fascination of the Bush, and to convey to the 
 mind of the reader a sense of the wild luxuriance and erratic 
 climate of Liberia. I look forward to the verdict of my 
 critics with interest. 
 
 Any white man who has travelled among the darker races 
 of the earth cannot help but feel a thrill of exultation be- 
 cause of the devotion of the negro to our higher culture. 
 Pre-eminently among other European races, Britain has in- 
 curred great responsibilities, and it is her duty, by the aid of 
 the ethnologist and scientist, who has assiduously studied his 
 traits, to endeavour, without bias, to understand him. If my 
 novel should accomplish a little in this direction I shall feel 
 amply repaid for my labours. 
 
 STUART YOUNG 
 
 THI BZACH HOUSE 
 
 GRAND BASSA, LIBERIA 
 tAugust, 1904 
 
 PLYMOUTH 
 WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, PRINTERS
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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