CHAPTER VII.

THE WHITE SLAVE AND HIS SISTER.

As the night set in--the night of December 23d, 1844--two persons were seated in the recess of a lofty window, which commanded a view of Broadway. It was the window of a drawing-room, on the second floor of a four storied edifice, built of brick, with doors and window-frames of marble.--By the dim light which prevailed, it might be seen that the drawing-room was spacious and elegantly furnished. Mirrors, pictures and statues broke softly through the twilight.

Seated amid the silken curtains of the window, these persons sat in silence--the man with his arms folded, and his head sunk upon his breast, the woman with her hands clasped over her bosom, and her eyes fixed upon the face of her companion. The woman was very beautiful; one of those who are called 'queenly' by persons who have never seen a live queen, and who are ignorant of the philosophical truth, that one beautiful woman is worth all the queens in the universe. The man was dark-haired, and of a complexion singularly pale and colorless; there was thought upon his forehead, and something of an unpleasant memory, written in his knit brows and compressed lips.

The silence which had prevailed for half an hour, was broken by a whisper from the lips of the woman--

"Of what are you thinking, Randolph?"

"Of the strange man whom we met at the house half way between New York and Philadelphia. His name and his personality are wrapt in impenetrable mystery."

"Had it not been for him--"

"Ay, had it not been for him, we should have been lost. You would have become the prey of the--the _master_, Esther, who owns you, and I,--I--well, no matter, I would have been dead."

"After the scene in THE _house_, Randolph, he came on with us, and by his directions we took rooms at the City Hotel. From the moment of our arrival, only a few hours ago, we did not see him, until--"

"Until an hour ago. Then he came into our room at the hotel. 'Here is a key,' said he, 'and your home is No. ----, Broadway. Go there at once, and await patiently the coming of the twenty-fifth of December.--You will find servants to wait upon you, you will find money to supply your wants,--it is in the drawer of the desk which you will discover in your bedroom--and most of all, you will there be safe from the attempts of your persecutor.' These were his words. We came at once, and find ourselves--the servants excepted--the sole tenants of this splendid mansion."

"But don't you remember his last words, as we left the hotel? 'At the hour of six,' said he, this singular unknown, 'you will be waited on by a much treasured friend.'--Who can it be that is to come and see us at that hour?"

"Friend," Randolph echoed bitterly, "what '_friend_' have we, save this personage, whose very name is unknown to us? Our father is dead. When I say that I say at once that we are utterly alone in the world."

"And yet there is a career before you, Randolph," faltered Esther.

"A splendid career, ha, ha, Esther, yes a splendid career for the White Slave! You forget, good girl, that we have negro blood in our veins. How much wealth do you think it would require to blot out the memory of the past? Suppose we are successful on the twenty-fifth of December,--suppose the mysterious trustee of the Van Huyden estate recognizes us as the children of one of the Seven,--suppose that we receive a share of this immense wealth--well, Esther, what will it avail us? Wherever we turn, the whisper will ring in our ears, 'They have negro blood in their veins. Their mother was descended from the black race. True, they look whiter than the palest of the Caucasian race, but--but'--(do you hear it, Esther?) 'but they _have negro blood in their veins_.'"

He started from his chair, and his sister saw, even by the dim light which came through the half-drawn window-curtains, that his chest heaved, and his face was distorted by a painful emotion.

She also arose.

"Randolph," she whispered, and laid her hand gently on his arm, "Randolph, my brother, I say it again, come wealth or poverty, you have a career before you. In Europe we may find a home,--"

"Europe!" he echoed, "And must we go to Europe, in order to be permitted to live? No, Esther, no! I am an American, yes,"--and his voice, low and deep, echoed proudly through the stillness of the dimly-lighted room,--"yes, I am a Carolinian, ay, a South Carolinian; South Carolina is my home; while I live, I will not cease to assert my right to a place, ay, and no dishonorable place--on my native soil."

He passed his sister's arm through his own, and led her gently over the carpet, which, soft as down, returned no echo to their tread. The lofty ceiling stretched above them, in the vague twilight; and on either hand were the walls adorned with paintings and statues. The mirror, which but dimly reflected their forms, flashed gently through the gloom.

"And Esther, there is one reason why I will not become an exile, which I have never spoken to mortal ears--not even to yours, my sister. It was communicated to me by my father, before I left for Europe: he placed _proofs_ in my possession which do not admit of denial. Sister, my epistle!--Here, in the dimly-lighted room, to which we have been guided by an unknown friend,--here, surrounded by mystery, and with the marks of wealth all about us,--here, as the crisis of our fate draws near, let me breathe the secret in your ears."

He paused in the center of the room. His sister felt his arm tremble as he drew her to his side. His voice betrayed, in its earnest yet faltering tones, an unfathomable emotion. And Esther clinging to his side, and looking up into his face--which she could scarcely discern through the gloom--felt her bosom swell, and her breath come painfully in gasps, as she was made, involuntarily, a sharer of her brother's agitation.

"Randolph," she said, "what can be the secret, which you have kept ever from me, your sister?"

"I will not leave this country, in the first place, because I am of its soil," he answered, "and because, first and last, it is no common right, which binds me to my native land. Come, Esther, to the window, where the light will help my words; you shall know all--"

He led her to the window, and drew from beneath his vest, a miniature, which he held toward the fading light.

"Do you trace the features?" he whispered.

"I do. It is beautifully painted, and the likeness resembles a thousand others, that I have seen of the same man. But what has this portrait in miniature to do with us?"

"What has it to do with us? Regard it again, and closely, my sister. Do you not trace a resemblance?"

"Resemblance to whom?" Esther echoed. "Why it is the portrait of ---- ----."

She repeated a name familiar to the civilized world.

"It is _his_ portrait. No one can deny it. But Esther, again I ask you,--" his voice sunk low and lower.--"Do you not trace a resemblance?"

"Resemblance to whom?" she answered, her tone indicating bewildered amazement.

"To the picture of OUR MOTHER, which you have seen at Hill Royal," was Randolph's answer.

Utterly bewildered, Esther once more examined the miniature; and an idea, so strange, so wild that she deemed it but the idle fancy of a dream, began to take shape in her brain.

"I am in the dark, I know not what you mean. True, true, the face portrayed in miniature does, somewhat, resemble our mother's portrait, but--"

"That miniature, Esther, is the portrait of the Head of our Family. That man,--" again he pronounced the name,--"was the father of our mother. We are his grandchildren, my sister."

Esther suffered the miniature to fall from her hand. She sank back into a chair.

For a few moments, there was a death-like pause, unbroken by a single word.

"The grandchildren of ---- ----!" echoed Esther, at length. "You cannot mean it, Randolph?"

Randolph bent his head until his lips well-nigh touched his sister's ear. At the same moment he clasped her hard with a painful pressure. The words which he then uttered were uttered in a whisper, but every word penetrated the soul of the listener.

"Esther, we are the grandchildren of that man whose name is on the lips of the civilized world. Our mother was _his_ child. _His_ blood flows in our veins. We are of _his_ race; _his_ features may be traced in your countenance and in mine. Now let them cut and hack and maim us: let them lash us at the whipping-post, or sell us in the slave mart. At every blow of the lash, we can exclaim, 'Lash on! lash on! But remember, you are inflicting this torture upon no common slaves; for your whip at every blow is stained with the blood of ---- ----. These slaves whom you lash are HIS grandchildren!'"

He paused, overcome by the violence of his emotion. In a moment he resumed:

"And it is because I am HIS grandson, that I will not exile myself from this land, which was HIS birthplace as it is mine. Yes, I cannot exile myself, for the reason that my GRANDFATHER left to my hands the fulfillment of an awful trust--of a work which, well fulfilled, will secure the happiness of all the races who people the American continent. I may become a suicide, but an exile,--never!"

"But our mother, was the daughter of Colonel Rawden. So the rumor ran, and so you stated before the Court of Ten Millions."

"In that statement I simply followed the popular rumor, for the time for the _entire truth_ had not yet come. But our mother was not the child of Colonel Rawden. Her mother was indeed Rawden's slave, but not one drop of Rawden's blood flows in our veins. Colonel Rawden was aware of the truth; well he knew that HERODIA, whom he sold to our father, was the child of ---- ----."

There was a pause: and it was not broken until Esther spoke:

"You would not like to return to Europe, then?"

"For one reason, and one only, I would like to visit Europe."

"And that reason?"

"Know, Esther, that at Florence, in the course of a hurried tour through Italy, I met a gentleman named Bernard Lynn. His native country I never ascertained; he was near fifty years of age; gentlemanly in his exterior, of reputed wealth, and accompanied by an only daughter, Eleanor Lynn. At Florence,--it matters not how,--I saved his daughter's life--ay, more than life, her honor. All his existence was wrapt up in her; you may, therefore, imagine the extent of his gratitude to the young American who saved the life of this idolized child."

"Was the girl grateful, as well as the father?"

"I remained but a week in their company, and then separated, to see them no more forever. That week was sufficient to assure me that I loved her better than my life,--that my passion was returned; and could I but forget the negro blood which mingles in my veins, I might boldly claim her as my own. Her father had but one prominent hatred: mild and gentlemanly on all other subjects, he was ferocious at the sight or mention of a negro. He regarded the African race as a libel upon mankind; a link between the monkey and the man; a caricature of the human race; the work of Nature, in one of her _unlucky_ moods. Conscious that there was negro blood in my veins, I left him abruptly. With this consciousness I could not press my suit for the hand of his daughter."

"But you would like to see her again?"

"Could I meet her as an equal, yes! But never can I look upon her face again. Don't you see, Esther, how at every turn of life, I am met by the fatal whisper, 'There is _negro blood in your veins_!'"

"She was beautiful?"

"One of the fairest types of the Caucasian race, that ever eye beheld. Tall in stature, her form cast in a mould of enticing loveliness, her complexion like snow, yet blushing with roses on the lip and cheek; her hair, brown in the sunlight, and dark in the shade; her eyes of a shade between brown and black, and always full of the light of all-abounding youth and hope.--Yes, she was beautiful, transcendently beautiful! She had the intellect of an affectionate but proud and ambitious woman."

"You saved her life?"

"I saved her honor."

"Her honor?"

"So beautiful, so young, so gifted, she attracted the attention of an Italian nobleman, who sued in vain for her hand. Foiled in his efforts to obtain her in honorable marriage, he determined to possess her at all hazards. One night, as herself and her father were returning to Florence, after a visit to Valambrosa, the carriage was attacked by a band of armed ruffians. The father was stretched insensible, by a blow upon the temple, from the hilt of a sword. When he recovered his senses, he was alone, and faint with the loss of blood. His daughter had disappeared. He made out, at length, to get back to Florence, and instituted a search for his child. His efforts were fruitless. Suspicion rested upon the rejected lover, but he appeared before the father, and to the father's satisfaction established his innocence. At this period, when the father had relinquished all hope, I assumed the disguise of a traveling student, armed myself and departed from Florence. I bent my steps to the Apennines. A servant of the nobleman, impelled at once by a bribe, and by revenge for ill-treatment, had imparted certain intelligence to me; upon this information I shaped my course. In an obscure nook of the Apennines, separated from the main road by a wilderness frequented by banditti, I found the daughter of Bernard Lynn. She was a prisoner in a miserable inn, which was kept by a poor knave, in the pay of the robbers. I entered the room in which she was imprisoned, in time to rescue her from the nobleman, who had reached the inn before me, and who was about to carry his threats into force. Had I been a moment later, her honor would have been sacrificed. A combat ensued: Eleanor saw me peril my life for her; and saw the villain laid insensible at her feet. She fainted in my arms. It matters not to tell how I bore her back to her father, who confessed that I had done a deed, which could never be suitably rewarded, although he might sacrifice his fortune and his life, in the effort to display his gratitude."

"By what name did they know you?"

"As Randolph Royalton, the son of a gentleman of South Carolina. From this I am afraid the father built false impressions of my social position and my wealth. Afraid to tell Eleanor the truth, I left them without one word of farewell."

At this moment, a door was opened, and the light of a wax candle, held in the hand of a servant who occupied the doorway, flashed over the details of the drawing-room, lighting up the scene with a sudden splendor. The servant was a man of middle age and of a calm, sober look. He was clad in a suit of gray, faced with black velvet.

The light revealed the brother and sister as they stood in the center of the scene; Esther, clad in the green habit which fitted closely to her beautiful shape, and Randolph attired in a black coat, vest and cravat, which presented a strong contrast to his pallid visage.

The servant bowed formally upon the threshold, and advanced, holding a salver of silver in one hand and the candle in the other. As soon as he had traversed the space between Randolph and the door, he bowed again, and extended the salver, upon which appeared a card, inscribed with a name--

"Master, a gentleman desires to see you. He is in his carriage at the door. He gave me this card for you."

Randolph exchanged glances with Esther, as much as to say "our expected visitor," and then took the card, and read these words:

"_An old friend desires to see Randolph Royalton and his sister._"

Randolph started as he beheld the handwriting, and the blood rushed to his cheek:

"Show the gentleman up stairs," he said quietly.

The servant disappeared, taking with him the light, and the room was wrapt in twilight once more.

"Have you any idea who is this visitor?" whispered Esther.

"Hush! Do not speak! Surrounded by mystery as we are, this new wonder throws all others completely into shade. I can scarcely believe it; and yet, it was _his_ handwriting! I cannot be mistaken."

In vain did Esther ask, "Whose handwriting?" Trembling with anxiety and delight, Randolph listened intently for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Presently there came a sound, as of footsteps ascending a stairway, covered with thick carpet; and then the door opened and the servant stood on the threshold, light in hand:

"This way, sir, this way," he exclaimed, and entered: while Randolph and Esther's gaze was centered on the doorway; the servant in gray rapidly lighted the wax candles, which stood on the marble mantle, and the spacious room was flooded with radiance.

"Ah, ha, my dear boy, have I caught you at last?" cried a harsh but a cheerful voice, and an elderly man, wrapped in a cloak, crossed the threshold, and approached Randolph with rapid steps.

"Mr. Lynn!" ejaculated Randolph, utterly astonished.

"Yes, your old friend, whom you so abruptly left at Florence, without so much as a word of good-bye! How are you, my dear fellow? Give me a shake of your hand. Miss Royalton, I presume?"

By no means recovered from his bewilderment, Randolph managed to present Mr. Bernard Lynn to his sister, whom he called "Miss Esther Royalton."

The visitor gave his hat and cloak to the servant, and flung himself into an arm-chair. He was a gentleman of some fifty years, dark complexion, and with masses of snow-white hair. His somewhat portly form was attired in a blue frock coat, beneath which the collar of a buff waistcoat and a black stock were discernible.

"Come, come, Randolph, my boy, let me chat with Miss Esther, while you attend to your servant, who, if I may judge by his telegraphic signs, has something to say to you in regard to your household affairs."

Randolph turned and was confronted by the servant, Mr. Hicks, who bowed low, and said in a tone which was audible through the room--

"At what hour will you have dinner served?" and then added in a whisper, "_I wish to speak with you alone_."

"At seven, as I directed you, when I first arrived," replied Randolph, and followed the servant from the drawing-room.

Mr. Hicks led the way, down the broad staircase, to the spacious hall on the lower floor, which was now illuminated by a large globe lamp.

"Pardon me, Mr. Royalton," said Mr. Hicks, "for troubling you about the dinner hour. That, if you will excuse me for saying so, was only a pretext. Your Agent, who arrived before you, to-day, and engaged myself and the other domestics, gave me especial directions, to prepare dinner to-night, at seven precisely. It was not about the hour of dinner, therefore, that I wished to see you, for we all know our duty, and you may rely upon it, that all the _appointments_ of this mansion, are in good hands."

"Right, Mr. Hicks, right, may I ask whether my Agent, who was here to-day, wore an odd dress which he sometimes wears, a,--a--"

"A blue surtout, with a great many capes? Yes, sir. The fashion in the south, I presume."

"_It was then my unknown friend of the half-way-house,_" thought Randolph: presently, he said, "Why did you call me from the drawing-room?"

Mr. Hicks bowed his formal bow, and pointed to a door of dark mahogany:

"If you will have the kindness to enter that room, you will know why I called you."

And Mr. Hicks bowed again, and retreated slowly from the scene.

Placing his hand upon the door, Randolph felt his heart beat tumultuously against his breast.

"Yesterday, a hunted slave," the thought rushed over him, "and to-day, the master of a mansion, and with a train of servants to obey my nod! So, my unknown friend in the surtout, with blue capes, was here to-day, acting the part of my 'Agent.' What new wonder awaits me, beyond this door?"

He opened the door, and he trembled, although he was anything but a coward. The room into which he entered, was about half as large as the drawing-room above. A lamp standing in the center of the carpet, shed a soft luxurious luster over the walls, which, white as snow, were adorned with one mirror, and three or four pictures, set in frames of black and gold. At a glance, in one of these frames, Randolph recognized the portrait of his father. The windows, opening on the street, were vailed with damask curtains. A piano stood in one corner, a sofa opposite, and elegant chairs of dark wood, were disposed around the room. It was at once a neat, singular, and somewhat luxurious apartment.

And on the sofa, was seated the figure of a woman, closely vailed. Her dark attire was in strong contrast with the scarlet cushions on which she rested, and the snow-white wall behind her.

Randolph stopped suddenly; he was stricken dumb, by a sensation of utter bewilderment. The unknown did not remove the vail from her face; she did not even move.

"You wish to see me, Madam?" he said, at length.

She drew the vail aside--he beheld her face,--and the next moment she had bounded from the sofa and was resting in his arms.

"Eleanor!" he cried, as the vail removed, he beheld her face.

"Randolph!" she exclaimed, as he pressed her to his breast.