Uncouth, revengeful, and a drunkard he.

Two miles up by the river ran his lands; And here, within a green-roofed kirk of woods, The slave found that seclusion he desired.

His only treasure was a Testament Hid in the friendly opening of a tree.

Often the book was kept within his cot, At times lay next his heart, nor did its beat Defile the fruity knowledge on the leaves.

The words were sweet as wine of Eshcol grapes To his parched lips. He saw the past arise.

Vague were the people, and the pageant moved, Uncertain as the figures in the dusk; Yet One there was, who stood in bold relief; A lovely, n.o.ble face with sweeping beard, And hair that trailed in beauty round his neck; A patient man, whose deeds were always good.

Whose words were brave for freedom and mankind.

IX.

In pa.s.sing through the grounds of Richard Wain, Karagwe found, upon a plat of gra.s.s, Some sheets of paper fastened at the ends, Blown from the house, he thought, or thrown away.

The sheets were closely written on and sealed.

Here was a long-sought opportunity To learn the older letters of the pen.

That night the writings, wrapped about the Book, Were safe within the hollow of the tree.

X.

All day he dreamed, "What token shall I give.

That she will know my thought and understand."

He caught at last a velvet honey-bee, Weighed down with its gold treasure in its belt, And killed it; then, when morning came again, Bore it to Ruth beneath the fragrant trees.

"I bring you, Ruth, a dead bee for a sign.

For if to-day you wear it in your hair, When once again you come to walk the lane, I then shall know that you are truly mine, Willing to be my wife, and share my lot, And let me toil with you like any bee; But if you do not wear it, then I shall care No more for anything; but waste my life, A bee without a queen." Then not one word Spoke Ruth; but when the sunset came, and she Went from the house again to walk alone, The dead bee glittered gem-like in her hair.

And him she met for whom the sign was meant, And in his hand she laid her own, and smiled.

XI.

The next day, Richard Wain, when riding past, Heard Ruth's bird-voice trilling in the lane, And caught a glimpse of her between the trees, A picture, for an instant, in a frame.

He thought, "The prize I coveted is near; She will be mine before the set of sun."

Returning soon, toward the house he went, Strode to the door, calling for Dalton Earl, And told him for what merchandise he came.

The girl was not for sale, the other said.

"You talk at random now," said Richard Wain, "You know I hold the deed of all your lands, And so, unless you let the woman go, Your whole estate shall have a sheriff's sale."

The planter turned a coward at the threat, And knowing well what blood ran in the veins Of her he sold, reluctant gave consent.

Above his wine he told Ruth of her fate, And to the floor she fell, and swooned away.

Recovering, she rose upon her knees, And begged, and prayed, that she might still remain.

At this he told her how the lands were held, And if she went not he must starve or beg.

"Then let the lands be sold, and sold again; If his, they are not yours. What good will come If I do go to him? then all is his.

Last night I gave my hand to Karagwe.

O, it will break my heart to go away."

Lightly his mustache twirled Dalton Earl.

At dusk, in tears to Karagwe's low roof, Ruth pa.s.sed, and uttered, with wild, angry words, The hard conditions that had been imposed.

She wept; he comforted: "There yet was hope: There was a Hero, in a Book he read, Who said that those who suffered would be blessed."

Then for the last, toward the planter's house They walked, and o'er them saw the spider moon Weaving the storm upon its web of cloud.

XII.

But Karagwe, when once he turned again, Smote wildly his infuriated breast.

His fierce eyes flashed; he thirsted for revenge.

Then came a calmer mood, and far away Sped the expelled thoughts like shuddering gusts of wind.

He wept that this injustice should be done; Yet knew that in G.o.d's hand the scale was set, And though His poor, down-trodden, waited long, They waited surely, for His hour would come.

XIII.

The night pa.s.sed, and the troublous morning broke, And Ruth was sold away from him she loved.

The dark day died, and when the moon arose, The foremost torch in day's long funeral train, Karagwe went down toward the river's brink, Thinking of what had been. He turned and saw His enemy walk calmly up the road.

Quickly behind him came another form; And in a jeweled hand, half raised to strike, A poniard glistened. Then the negro rose, And caught the weapon from the a.s.sa.s.sin's grasp, And stood before the planter, Dalton Earl!

"Forgive," he said, "Forgiveness is a slave; She has no pride, she never does an ill; For she is meekly great, and n.o.bly good, And patient, though the lash of anger smites."

Rebuked, the master stood before the slave, And Richard Wain pa.s.sed on, nor knew his life Was saved by one that he had that day wronged.

Thus Dalton Earl: "I thank you for this act, Thwarting a bad intent. Yet I had cause To take the sullied life of Richard Wain.

He drugged the wine he gave me at his house, And knowing that I had with me the deed And t.i.tle of my lands, begged me to play, And while I played, stake all upon a card.

He won, and I have hated from that hour."

XIV.

Like some great thought that finds release at last, The happy Spring in buds expression found.

Coralline Earl grew rich in every grace.

Her eyes' blue heavens were serene with soul, And goodness sunned her face from light within.

Her hands were soft with kindness. On her brow Shone hope, more lovely than a ruby star.

As in the ancient days sat Mordecai At the king's gate, and waited for the hour, When, clothed with pomp, he too should take his seat Among the mighty n.o.bles of the land, So at the gateway of her palace heart, Love tarried, that he too might enter in, And rule the kingdom of another life.

Not long the waiting; for when Stanley Thane Came from his northern home with Dalton Earl, And on the terrace steps met Coralline, Love took the sceptre that his waiting won.

Well worthy to be loved was Stanley Thane.

He could not claim a t.i.tled ancestor, Nor boast of any blood but Puritan.

His father was successful on exchange, Reaped fortune by a rise in merchandise, Now sent his partner son with Dalton Earl Toward the claspless girdle of the South.

And Stanley Thane was all that makes true men; High thought, high purpose, loving right the best, His mind was clear and fresh as air at morn.

He kissed the rosy tips of Coralline's hand, And that day galloped with her through the town, And wandered with her down magnolia lanes, And watched, below the spray-woofed fall, the brook, That seemed a maid, who, sitting at a loom, Wove misty lace to decorate the rocks.

XV.

Long o'er his writings hidden in the tree Pondered the slave, and found at last their worth.

Must he return them? To whom did they belong?

If he should give them back to Dalton Earl Unjustly, Richard Wain might claim them still.

He chose to keep there folded round the Book, Hid in the secret hollow of the tree.

He thought of Ruth as one who was at rest, And wept for her as though she was no more, And sometimes gathered flowers, and placed them where He knew she soon would pa.s.s, as tenderly As though he laid them down upon her grave.

XVI.

Once in the twilight, as the shadows fell, A skiff shot from the under-reaching sh.o.r.e, And Stanley Thane and Coralline sailed down The languid waters, 'neath the dappled moon.

They spoke of giant wars that yet might be To drive the dragon Slavery from the land.

Coralline smoothed the evils it had wrought.

Stanley, who could not see a wrong excused, Said, "G.o.d is just; he knows nor white nor black.

If war must come, each shackle will be forced, To make, at last, the nation wholly free."