prompt:
Chapter: About ten o'clock on the morning of the discovery of the murder, Captain
McBane and General Belmont, as though moved by a common impulse, found
themselves at the office of the Morning Chronicle. Carteret was
expecting them, though there had been no appointment made. These three
resourceful and energetic minds, representing no organized body, and
clothed with no legal authority, had so completely arrogated to
themselves the leadership of white public sentiment as to come together
instinctively when an event happened which concerned the public, and, as
this murder presumably did, involved the matter of race.

"Well, gentlemen," demanded McBane impatiently, "what are we going to do
with the scoundrel when we catch him?"

"They've got the murderer," announced a reporter, entering the room.

"Who is he?" they demanded in a breath.

"A nigger by the name of Sandy Campbell, a servant of old Mr. Delamere."

"How did they catch him?"

"Our Jerry saw him last night, going toward Mrs. Ochiltree's house, and
a white man saw him coming away, half an hour later."

"Has he confessed?"

"No, but he might as well. When the posse went to arrest him, they found
him cleaning the clothes he had worn last night, and discovered in his
room a part of the plunder. He denies it strenuously, but it seems a
clear case."

"There can be no doubt," said Ellis, who had come into the room behind
the reporter. "I saw the negro last night, at twelve o'clock, going into
Mr. Delamere's yard, with a bundle in his hand."

"He is the last negro I should have suspected," said Carteret. "Mr.
Delamere had implicit confidence in him."

"All niggers are alike," remarked McBane sententiously. "The only way to
keep them from stealing is not to give them the chance. A nigger will
steal a cent off a dead man's eye. He has assaulted and murdered a white
woman,--an example should be made of him."

Carteret recalled very distinctly the presence of this negro at his own
residence on the occasion of little Theodore's christening dinner. He
remembered having questioned the prudence of letting a servant know that
Mrs. Ochiltree kept money in the house. Mr. Delamere had insisted
strenuously upon the honesty of this particular negro. The whole race,
in the major's opinion, was morally undeveloped, and only held within
bounds by the restraining influence of the white people. Under Mr.
Delamere's thumb this Sandy had been a model servant,--faithful, docile,
respectful, and self-respecting; but Mr. Delamere had grown old, and had
probably lost in a measure his moral influence over his servant. Left to
his own degraded ancestral instincts, Sandy had begun to deteriorate,
and a rapid decline had culminated in this robbery and murder,--and who
knew what other horror? The criminal was a negro, the victim a white
woman;--it was only reasonable to expect the worst.

"He'll swing for it," observed the general.

Ellis went into another room, where his duty called him.

"He should burn for it," averred McBane. "I say, burn the nigger."

"This," said Carteret, "is something more than an ordinary crime, to be
dealt with by the ordinary processes of law. It is a murderous and fatal
assault upon a woman of our race,--upon our race in the person of its
womanhood, its crown and flower. If such crimes are not punished with
swift and terrible directness, the whole white womanhood of the South is
in danger."

"Burn the nigger," repeated McBane automatically.

"Neither is this a mere sporadic crime," Carteret went on. "It is
symptomatic; it is the logical and inevitable result of the conditions
which have prevailed in this town for the past year. It is the last
straw."

"Burn the nigger," reiterated McBane. "We seem to have the right nigger,
but whether we have or not, burn _a_ nigger. It is an assault upon the
white race, in the person of old Mrs. Ochiltree, committed by the black
race, in the person of some nigger. It would justify the white people in
burning _any_ nigger. The example would be all the more powerful if we
got the wrong one. It would serve notice on the niggers that we shall
hold the whole race responsible for the misdeeds of each individual."

"In ancient Rome," said the general, "when a master was killed by a
slave, all his slaves were put to the sword."

"We couldn't afford that before the war," said McBane, "but the niggers
don't belong to anybody now, and there's nothing to prevent our doing as
we please with them. A dead nigger is no loss to any white man. I say,
burn the nigger."

"I do not believe," said Carteret, who had gone to the window and was
looking out,--"I do not believe that we need trouble ourselves
personally about his punishment. I should judge, from the commotion in
the street, that the public will take the matter into its own hands. I,
for one, would prefer that any violence, however justifiable, should
take place without my active intervention."

"It won't take place without mine, if I know it," exclaimed McBane,
starting for the door.

"Hold on a minute, captain," exclaimed Carteret. "There's more at stake
in this matter than the life of a black scoundrel. Wellington is in the
hands of negroes and scalawags. What better time to rescue it?"

"It's a trifle premature," replied the general. "I should have preferred
to have this take place, if it was to happen, say three months hence, on
the eve of the election,--but discussion always provokes thirst with me;
I wonder if I could get Jerry to bring us some drinks?"

Carteret summoned the porter. Jerry's usual manner had taken on an
element of self-importance, resulting in what one might describe as a
sort of condescending obsequiousness. Though still a porter, he was also
a hero, and wore his aureole.

"Jerry," said the general kindly, "the white people are very much
pleased with the assistance you have given them in apprehending this
scoundrel Campbell. You have rendered a great public service, Jerry, and
we wish you to know that it is appreciated."

"Thank y', gin'l, thank y', suh! I alluz tries ter do my duty, suh, an'
stan' by dem dat stan's by me. Dat low-down nigger oughter be lynch',
suh, don't you think, er e'se bu'nt? Dere ain' nothin' too bad ter
happen ter 'im."

"No doubt he will be punished as he deserves, Jerry," returned the
general, "and we will see that you are suitably rewarded. Go across the
street and get me three Calhoun cocktails. I seem to have nothing less
than a two-dollar bill, but you may keep the change, Jerry,--all the
change."

Jerry was very happy. He had distinguished himself in the public view,
for to Jerry, as to the white people themselves, the white people were
the public. He had won the goodwill of the best people, and had already
begun to reap a tangible reward. It is true that several strange white
men looked at him with lowering brows as he crossed the street, which
was curiously empty of colored people; but he nevertheless went firmly
forward, panoplied in the consciousness of his own rectitude, and
serenely confident of the protection of the major and the major's
friends.

"Jerry is about the only negro I have seen since nine o'clock," observed
the general when the porter had gone. "If this were election day, where
would the negro vote be?"

"In hiding, where most of the negro population is to-day," answered
McBane. "It's a pity, if old Mrs. Ochiltree had to go this way, that it
couldn't have been deferred a month or six weeks." Carteret frowned
at this remark, which, coming from McBane, seemed lacking in human
feeling, as well as in respect to his wife's dead relative.

"But," resumed the general, "if this negro is lynched, as he well
deserves to be, it will not be without its effect. We still have in
reserve for the election a weapon which this affair will only render
more effective. What became of the piece in the negro paper?"

"I have it here," answered Carteret. "I was just about to use it as the
text for an editorial."

"Save it awhile longer," responded the general. "This crime itself will
give you text enough for a four-volume work."

When this conference ended, Carteret immediately put into press an extra
edition of the Morning Chronicle, which was soon upon the streets,
giving details of the crime, which was characterized as an atrocious
assault upon a defenseless old lady, whose age and sex would have
protected her from harm at the hands of any one but a brute in the
lowest human form. This event, the Chronicle suggested, had only
confirmed the opinion, which had been of late growing upon the white
people, that drastic efforts were necessary to protect the white women
of the South against brutal, lascivious, and murderous assaults at the
hands of negro men. It was only another significant example of the
results which might have been foreseen from the application of a false
and pernicious political theory, by which ignorance, clothed in a little
brief authority, was sought to be exalted over knowledge, vice over
virtue, an inferior and degraded race above the heaven-crowned
Anglo-Saxon. If an outraged people, justly infuriated, and impatient of
the slow processes of the courts, should assert their inherent
sovereignty, which the law after all was merely intended to embody, and
should choose, in obedience to the higher law, to set aside,
temporarily, the ordinary judicial procedure, it would serve as a
warning and an example to the vicious elements of the community, of the
swift and terrible punishment which would fall, like the judgment of
God, upon any one who laid sacrilegious hands upon white womanhood.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: At ten o'clock the next morning, Major Carteret, Captain McBane, and General Belmont all gather in the Morning Chronicle's office to discuss the options presented to them by this atrocious crime. A reporter comes into the office and tells them that a suspect has been apprehended, Sandy Campbell, and that it was Jerry, the Chronicle's office boy, that turned him in. Carteret remembers that Sandy had served him at his son's christening and that old Mr. Delamere had vociferously insisted upon Sandy's dignity. This incident confirms Carteret's belief that the "whole race. was morally undeveloped, and only held within the bounds by the restraining influence of the white people. All three men agree that justice must be meted out. Captain McBane insists repeatedly that they should "burn the nigger" and that "it would justify the white people in burning any nigger. The example would be all the more powerful if we got the wrong one. Carteret is more tempered and tells them that he wants nothing to do with the violence. He does see the opportunity, however, to turn public opinion violently against the black community, thereby influencing the coming elections. Jerry is called in, and General Belmont gives him two dollars for drinks. He tells him to keep all the change as a reward for turning in Sandy and Jerry fells proud that he has done his part to "stan' by dem dat stan's by me


prompt:
Chapter: Dr. Miller, who had sat up late the night before with a difficult case
at the hospital, was roused, about eleven o'clock, from a deep and
dreamless sleep. Struggling back into consciousness, he was informed by
his wife, who stood by his bedside, that Mr. Watson, the colored lawyer,
wished to see him upon a matter of great importance.

"Nothing but a matter of life and death would make me get up just now,"
he said with a portentous yawn.

"This is a matter of life and death," replied Janet. "Old Mrs. Polly
Ochiltree was robbed and murdered last night, and Sandy Campbell has
been arrested for the crime,--and they are going to lynch him!"

"Tell Watson to come right up," exclaimed Miller, springing out of bed.
"We can talk while I'm dressing."

While Miller made a hasty toilet Watson explained the situation.
Campbell had been arrested on the charge of murder. He had been seen,
during the night, in the neighborhood of the scene of the crime, by two
different persons, a negro and a white man, and had been identified
later while entering Mr. Delamere's house, where he lived, and where
damning proofs of his guilt had been discovered; the most important item
of which was an old-fashioned knit silk purse, recognized as Mrs.
Ochiltree's, and several gold pieces of early coinage, of which the
murdered woman was known to have a number. Watson brought with him one
of the first copies procurable of the extra edition of the Chronicle,
which contained these facts and further information.

They were still talking when Mrs. Miller, knocking at the door,
announced that big Josh Green wished to see the doctor about Sandy
Campbell. Miller took his collar and necktie in his hand and went
downstairs, where Josh sat waiting.

"Doctuh," said Green, "de w'ite folks is talkin' 'bout lynchin' Sandy
Campbell fer killin' ole Mis' Ochiltree. He never done it, an' dey oughtn'
ter be 'lowed ter lynch 'im."

"They ought not to lynch him, even if he committed the crime," returned
Miller, "but still less if he didn't. What do you know about it?"

"I know he was wid me, suh, las' night, at de time when dey say ole Mis'
Ochiltree wuz killed. We wuz down ter Sam Taylor's place, havin' a
little game of kyards an' a little liquor. Den we lef dere an' went up
ez fur ez de corner er Main an' Vine Streets, where we pa'ted, an' Sandy
went 'long to'ds home. Mo'over, dey say he had on check' britches an' a
blue coat. When Sandy wuz wid me he had on gray clo's, an' when we
sep'rated he wa'n't in no shape ter be changin' his clo's, let 'lone
robbin' er killin' anybody."

"Your testimony ought to prove an alibi for him," declared Miller.

"Dere ain' gwine ter be no chance ter prove nothin', 'less'n we kin do
it mighty quick! Dey say dey're gwine ter lynch 'im ter-night,--some on
'em is talkin' 'bout burnin' 'im. My idee is ter hunt up de niggers an'
git 'em ter stan' tergether an' gyard de jail."

"Why shouldn't we go to the principal white people of the town and tell
them Josh's story, and appeal to them to stop this thing until Campbell
can have a hearing?"

"It wouldn't do any good," said Watson despondently; "their blood is
up. It seems that some colored man attacked Mrs. Ochiltree,--and he was
a murderous villain, whoever he may be. To quote Josh would destroy the
effect of his story,--we know he never harmed any one but himself"--

"An' a few keerliss people w'at got in my way," corrected Josh.

"He has been in court several times for fighting,--and that's against
him. To have been at Sam Taylor's place is against Sandy, too, rather
than in his favor. No, Josh, the white people would believe that you
were trying to shield Sandy, and you would probably be arrested as an
accomplice."

"But look a-here, Mr. Watson,--Dr. Miller, is we-all jes' got ter set
down here, widout openin' ou' mouths, an' let dese w'ite folks hang er
bu'n a man w'at we _know_ ain' guilty? Dat ain't no law, ner jestice,
ner nothin'! Ef you-all won't he'p, I'll do somethin' myse'f! Dere's
two niggers ter one white man in dis town, an' I'm sho' I kin fin' fifty
of 'em w'at 'll fight, ef dey kin fin' anybody ter lead 'em."

"Now hold on, Josh," argued Miller; "what is to be gained by fighting?
Suppose you got your crowd together and surrounded the jail,--what
then?"

"There'd be a clash," declared Watson, "and instead of one dead negro
there'd be fifty. The white people are claiming now that Campbell didn't
stop with robbery and murder. A special edition of the Morning
Chronicle, just out, suggests a further purpose, and has all the old
shopworn cant about race purity and supremacy and imperative necessity,
which always comes to the front whenever it is sought to justify some
outrage on the colored folks. The blood of the whites is up, I tell
you!"

"Is there anything to that suggestion?" asked Miller incredulously.

"It doesn't matter whether there is or not," returned Watson. "Merely
to suggest it proves it.

"Nothing was said about this feature until the paper came out,--and even
its statement is vague and indefinite,--but now the claim is in every
mouth. I met only black looks as I came down the street. White men with
whom I have long been on friendly terms passed me without a word. A
negro has been arrested on suspicion,--the entire race is condemned on
general principles."

"The whole thing is profoundly discouraging," said Miller sadly. "Try as
we may to build up the race in the essentials of good citizenship and
win the good opinion of the best people, some black scoundrel comes
along, and by a single criminal act, committed in the twinkling of an
eye, neutralizes the effect of a whole year's work."

"It's mighty easy neut'alize', er whatever you call it," said Josh
sullenly. "De w'ite folks don' want too good an opinion er de
niggers,--ef dey had a good opinion of 'em, dey wouldn' have no excuse
f er 'busin' an' hangin' an' burnin' 'em. But ef dey can't keep from
doin' it, let 'em git de right man! Dis way er pickin' up de fus' nigger
dey comes across, an' stringin' 'im up rega'dliss, ought ter be stop',
an' stop' right now!"

"Yes, that's the worst of lynch law," said Watson; "but we are wasting
valuable time,--it's hardly worth while for us to discuss a subject we
are all agreed upon. One of our race, accused of certain acts, is about
to be put to death without judge or jury, ostensibly because he committed
a crime,--really because he is a negro, for if he were white he would not
be lynched. It is thus made a race issue, on the one side as well as on
the other. What can we do to protect him?"

"We kin fight, ef we haf ter," replied Josh resolutely.

"Well, now, let us see. Suppose the colored people armed themselves?
Messages would at once be sent to every town and county in the
neighborhood. White men from all over the state, armed to the teeth,
would at the slightest word pour into town on every railroad train, and
extras would be run for their benefit."

"They're already coming in," said Watson.

"We might go to the sheriff," suggested Miller, "and demand that he
telegraph the governor to call out the militia."

"I spoke to the sheriff an hour ago," replied Watson. "He has a white
face and a whiter liver. He does not dare call out the militia to
protect a negro charged with such a brutal crime;--and if he did, the
militia are white men, and who can say that their efforts would not be
directed to keeping the negroes out of the way, in order that the white
devils might do their worst? The whole machinery of the state is in the
hands of white men, elected partly by our votes. When the color line is
drawn, if they choose to stand together with the rest of their race
against us, or to remain passive and let the others work their will, we
are helpless,--our cause is hopeless."

"We might call on the general government," said Miller. "Surely the
President would intervene."

"Such a demand would be of no avail," returned Watson. "The government
can only intervene under certain conditions, of which it must be
informed through designated channels. It never sees anything that is not
officially called to its attention. The whole negro population of the
South might be slaughtered before the necessary red tape could be spun
out to inform the President that a state of anarchy prevailed. There's
no hope there."

"Den w'at we gwine ter do?" demanded Josh indignantly; "jes' set here
an' let 'em hang Sandy, er bu'n 'im?"

"God knows!" exclaimed Miller. "The outlook is dark, but we should at
least try to do something. There must be some white men in the town who
would stand for law and order,--there's no possible chance for Sandy to
escape hanging by due process of law, if he is guilty. We might at least
try half a dozen gentlemen."

"We'd better leave Josh here," said Watson. "He's too truculent. If he
went on the street he'd make trouble, and if he accompanied us he'd do
more harm than good. Wait for us here, Josh, until we 'we seen what we
can do. We'll be back in half an hour."

In half an hour they had both returned.

"It's no use," reported Watson gloomily. "I called at the mayor's office
and found it locked. He is doubtless afraid on his own account, and
would not dream of asserting his authority. I then looked up Judge
Everton, who has always seemed to be fair. My reception was cold. He
admitted that lynching was, as a rule, unjustifiable, but maintained
that there were exceptions to all rules,--that laws were made, after
all, to express the will of the people in regard to the ordinary
administration of justice, but that in an emergency the sovereign people
might assert itself and take the law into its own hands,--the creature
was not greater than the creator. He laughed at my suggestion that Sandy
was innocent. 'If he is innocent,' he said, 'then produce the real
criminal. You negroes are standing in your own light when you try to
protect such dastardly scoundrels as this Campbell, who is an enemy of
society and not fit to live. I shall not move in the matter. If a negro
wants the protection of the law, let him obey the law.' A wise judge,--a
second Daniel come to judgment! If this were the law, there would be no
need of judges or juries."

"I called on Dr. Price," said Miller, "my good friend Dr. Price, who
would rather lie than hurt my feelings. 'Miller,' he declared, 'this is
no affair of mine, or yours. I have too much respect for myself and my
profession to interfere in such a matter, and you will accomplish
nothing, and only lessen your own influence, by having anything to say.'
'But the man may be innocent,' I replied; 'there is every reason to
believe that he is.' He shook his head pityingly. 'You are
self-deceived, Miller; your prejudice has warped your judgment. The
proof is overwhelming that he robbed this old lady, laid violent hands
upon her, and left her dead. If he did no more, he has violated the
written and unwritten law of the Southern States. I could not save him
if I would, Miller, and frankly, I would not if I could. If he is
innocent, his people can console themselves with the reflection that
Mrs. Ochiltree was also innocent, and balance one crime against the
other, the white against the black. Of course I shall take no part in
whatever may be done,--but it is not my affair, nor yours. Take my
advice, Miller, and keep out of it.'

"That is the situation," added Miller, summing up. "Their friendship for
us, a slender stream at the best, dries up entirely when it strikes
their prejudices. There is seemingly not one white man in Wellington who
will speak a word for law, order, decency, or humanity. Those who do not
participate will stand idly by and see an untried man deliberately and
brutally murdered. Race prejudice is the devil unchained."

"Well, den, suh," said Josh, "where does we stan' now? W'at is we gwine
ter do? I wouldn' min' fightin', fer my time ain't come yit,--I feels
dat in my bones. W'at we gwine ter do, dat's w'at I wanter know."

"What does old Mr. Delamere have to say about the matter?" asked Miller
suddenly. "Why haven't we thought of him before? Has he been seen?"

"No," replied Watson gloomily, "and for a good reason,--he is not in
town. I came by the house just now, and learned that he went out to his
country place yesterday afternoon, to remain a week. Sandy was to have
followed him out there this morning,--it's a pity he didn't go
yesterday. The old gentleman has probably heard nothing about the
matter."

"How about young Delamere?"

"He went away early this morning, down the river, to fish. He'll
probably not hear of it before night, and he's only a boy anyway, and
could very likely do nothing," said Watson.

Miller looked at his watch.

"Belleview is ten miles away," he said. "It is now eleven o'clock. I can
drive out there in an hour and a half at the farthest. I'll go and see
Mr. Delamere,--he can do more than any living man, if he is able to do
anything at all. There's never been a lynching here, and one good white
man, if he choose, may stem the flood long enough to give justice a
chance. Keep track of the white people while I'm gone, Watson; and you,
Josh, learn what the colored folks are saying, and do nothing rash until
I return. In the meantime, do all that you can to find out who did
commit this most atrocious murder."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Dr. Miller is woken by Mr. Watson, the town's black lawyer, who tells him that Sandy has been arrested on charges of murder and that he will be lynched. There is a knock at the door and Josh Green enters. Josh tells them that he knows Sandy is innocent because he was with him the night before. Miller believes that Josh's testimony will be an alibi, but Watson tells him that their pleas for justice will do no good. Josh would not be considered a reliable witness and the white community's "blood is up. Josh suggests, "Dere's two niggers ter one white man in dis town, an' I'm sho' I kin fin' fifty of 'em w'at'll fight, ef dey kin fin' anybody ter lead 'em. Watson and Miller both discourage Josh from leading such violence, but Josh fumes over the incident and insists that it is an injustice for the white people to seek blood in this way. The men try to list anything they might do to stop the lynching. They consider calling the Governor or the President to send the militia, but they conclude that such appeals would do no good. Miller and Watson leave to plead their case to any sympathetic white person they know, but each denies them any help. Judge Everton tells them, "If a negro wants the protection of the law, let him obey the law. Watson calls him "a second Daniel come to judgment. Even Dr. Price will lend no aid in the matter and personally believes that Sandy is guilty. Miller knows that their white friendships are "a slender stream at the best" which "dries up entirely when it strikes their prejudices. They determine that their only hope is to find old Mr. Delamere and to find out who really committed such an atrocious crime


prompt:
Chapter: Miller did not reach his destination without interruption. At one point
a considerable stretch of the road was under repair, which made it
necessary for him to travel slowly. His horse cast a shoe, and
threatened to go lame; but in the course of time he arrived at the
entrance gate of Belleview, entering which he struck into a private
road, bordered by massive oaks, whose multitudinous branches, hung with
long streamers of trailing moss, formed for much of the way a thick
canopy above his head. It took him only a few minutes to traverse the
quarter of a mile that lay between the entrance gate and the house
itself.

This old colonial plantation, rich in legendary lore and replete with
historic distinction, had been in the Delamere family for nearly two
hundred years. Along the bank of the river which skirted its domain the
famous pirate Blackbeard had held high carnival, and was reputed to have
buried much treasure, vague traditions of which still lingered among the
negroes and poor-whites of the country roundabout. The beautiful
residence, rising white and stately in a grove of ancient oaks, dated
from 1750, and was built of brick which had been brought from England.
Enlarged and improved from generation to generation, it stood, like a
baronial castle, upon a slight eminence from which could be surveyed
the large demesne still belonging to the estate, which had shrunk
greatly from its colonial dimensions. While still embracing several
thousand acres, part forest and part cleared land, it had not of late
years been profitable; in spite of which Mr. Delamere, with the
conservatism of his age and caste, had never been able to make up his
mind to part with any considerable portion of it. His grandson, he
imagined, could make the estate pay and yet preserve it in its
integrity. Here, in pleasant weather, surrounded by the scenes which he
loved, old Mr. Delamere spent much of the time during his declining
years.

Dr. Miller had once passed a day at Belleview, upon Mr. Delamere's
invitation. For this old-fashioned gentleman, whose ideals not even
slavery had been able to spoil, regarded himself as a trustee for the
great public, which ought, in his opinion, to take as much pride as he
in the contemplation of this historic landmark. In earlier years Mr.
Delamere had been a practicing lawyer, and had numbered Miller's father
among his clients. He had always been regarded as friendly to the
colored people, and, until age and ill health had driven him from active
life, had taken a lively interest in their advancement since the
abolition of slavery. Upon the public opening of Miller's new hospital,
he had made an effort to be present, and had made a little speech of
approval and encouragement which had manifested his kindliness and given
Miller much pleasure.

It was with the consciousness, therefore, that he was approaching a
friend, as well as Sandy's master, that Miller's mind was chiefly
occupied as his tired horse, scenting the end of his efforts, bore him
with a final burst of speed along the last few rods of the journey; for
the urgency of Miller's errand, involving as it did the issues of life
and death, did not permit him to enjoy the charm of mossy oak or forest
reaches, or even to appreciate the noble front of Belleview House when
it at last loomed up before him.

"Well, William," said Mr. Delamere, as he gave his hand to Miller from
the armchair in which he was seated under the broad and stately portico,
"I didn't expect to see you out here. You'll excuse my not
rising,--I'm none too firm on my legs. Did you see anything of my man
Sandy back there on the road? He ought to have been here by nine
o'clock, and it's now one. Sandy is punctuality itself, and I don't know
how to account for his delay."

Clearly there need be no time wasted in preliminaries. Mr. Delamere had
gone directly to the subject in hand.

"He will not be here to-day, sir," replied Miller. "I have come to you
on his account."

In a few words Miller stated the situation.

"Preposterous!" exclaimed the old gentleman, with more vigor than Miller
had supposed him to possess. "Sandy is absolutely incapable of such a
crime as robbery, to say nothing of murder; and as for the rest, that is
absurd upon the face of it! And so the poor old woman is dead! Well,
well, well! she could not have lived much longer anyway; but Sandy did
not kill her,--it's simply impossible! Why, _I_ raised that boy! He was
born on my place. I'd as soon believe such a thing of my own grandson
as of Sandy! No negro raised by a Delamere would ever commit such a
crime. I really believe, William, that Sandy has the family honor of the
Delameres quite as much at heart as I have. Just tell them I say Sandy
is innocent, and it will be all right."

"I'm afraid, sir," rejoined Miller, who kept his voice up so that the
old gentleman could understand without having it suggested that Miller
knew he was hard of hearing, "that you don't quite appreciate the
situation. _I_ believe Sandy innocent; _you_ believe him innocent; but
there are suspicious circumstances which do not explain themselves, and
the white people of the city believe him guilty, and are going to lynch
him before he has a chance to clear himself."

"Why doesn't he explain the suspicious circumstances?" asked Mr.
Delamere. "Sandy is truthful and can be believed. I would take Sandy's
word as quickly as another man's oath."

"He has no chance to explain," said Miller. "The case is prejudged. A
crime has been committed. Sandy is charged with it. He is black, and
therefore he is guilty. No colored lawyer would be allowed in the jail,
if one should dare to go there. No white lawyer will intervene. He'll
be lynched to-night, without judge, jury, or preacher, unless we can
stave the thing off for a day or two."

"Have you seen my grandson?" asked the old gentleman. "Is he not looking
after Sandy?"

"No, sir. It seems he went down the river this morning to fish, before
the murder was discovered; no one knows just where he has gone, or at
what hour he will return."

"Well, then," said Mr. Delamere, rising from his chair with surprising
vigor, "I shall have to go myself. No faithful servant of mine shall be
hanged for a crime he didn't commit, so long as I have a voice to
speak or a dollar to spend. There'll be no trouble after I get there,
William. The people are naturally wrought up at such a crime. A fine old
woman,--she had some detestable traits, and I was always afraid she
wanted to marry me, but she was of an excellent family and had many good
points,--an old woman of one of the best families, struck down by the
hand of a murderer! You must remember, William, that blood is thicker
than water, and that the provocation is extreme, and that a few hotheads
might easily lose sight of the great principles involved and seek
immediate vengeance, without too much discrimination. But they are good
people, William, and when I have spoken, and they have an opportunity
for the sober second thought, they will do nothing rashly, but will wait
for the operation of the law, which will, of course, clear Sandy."

"I'm sure I hope so," returned Miller. "Shall I try to drive you back,
sir, or will you order your own carriage?"

"My horses are fresher, William, and I'll have them brought around. You
can take the reins, if you will,--I'm rather old to drive,--and my man
will come behind with your buggy."

In a few minutes they set out along the sandy road. Having two fresh
horses, they made better headway than Miller had made coming out, and
reached Wellington easily by three o'clock.

"I think, William," said Mr. Delamere, as they drove into the town,
"that I had first better talk with Sandy. He may be able to explain away
the things that seem to connect him with this atrocious affair; and that
will put me in a better position to talk to other people about it."

Miller drove directly to the county jail. Thirty or forty white men, who
seemed to be casually gathered near the door, closed up when the
carriage approached. The sheriff, who had seen them from the inside,
came to the outer door and spoke to the visitor through a grated wicket.

"Mr. Wemyss," said Mr. Delamere, when he had made his way to the
entrance with the aid of his cane, "I wish to see my servant, Sandy
Campbell, who is said to be in your custody."

The sheriff hesitated. Meantime there was some parleying in low tones
among the crowd outside. No one interfered, however, and in a moment the
door opened sufficiently to give entrance to the old gentleman, after
which it closed quickly and clangorously behind him.

Feeling no desire to linger in the locality, Miller, having seen his
companion enter the jail, drove the carriage round to Mr. Delamere's
house, and leaving it in charge of a servant with instructions to return
for his master in a quarter of an hour, hastened to his own home to meet
Watson and Josh and report the result of his efforts.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Miller hurries out to Belleview, the Delamere country estate that had been in the family for over two hundred years. He is in such a hurry that he does not have time to enjoy the beauty of the place or the grandness of the house. He enters and explains quickly the situation. Mr. Delamere is shocked that Sandy should be accused of such a crime. No negro raised by a Delamere would ever commit such a crime. I really believe. that Sandy has the family honor of the Delameres quite as much at heart as I have. Miller explains the urgency of the situation and that Sandy will be lynched this evening unless something is done. Delamere decides to go back to Wellington himself and see about the matter. He is sure that "there'll be no trouble after I get there. they are good people and when I have spoken, and they have an opportunity for the sober second thought, they will do nothing rashly, but will wait for the operation of the law, which will, of course, clear Sandy. They travel back to Wellington where Mr. Delamere enters the jail to talk directly with Sandy


prompt:
Chapter: The iron bolt rattled in the lock, the door of a cell swung open, and
when Mr. Delamere had entered was quickly closed again.

"Well, Sandy!"

"Oh, Mars John! Is you fell from hebben ter he'p me out er here? I
prayed de Lawd ter sen' you, an' He answered my prayer, an' here you is,
Mars John,--here you is! Oh, Mars John, git me out er dis place!"

"Tut, tut, Sandy!" answered his master; "of course I'll get you out.
That's what I've come for. How in the world did such a mistake ever
happen? You would no more commit such a crime than I would!"

"No, suh, 'deed I wouldn', an' you know I wouldn'! I wouldn' want ter
bring no disgrace on de fam'ly dat raise' me, ner ter make no trouble
fer you, suh; but here I is, suh, lock' up in jail, an' folks talkin'
'bout hangin' me fer somethin' dat never entered my min', suh. I swea'
ter God I never thought er sech a thing!"

"Of course you didn't, Sandy," returned Mr. Delamere soothingly; "and
now the next thing, and the simplest thing, is to get you out of this.
I'll speak to the officers, and at the preliminary hearing to-morrow I'll
tell them all about you, and they will let you go. You won't mind
spending one night in jail for your sins."

"No, suh, ef I wuz sho' I'd be 'lowed ter spen' it here. But dey say dey
're gwine ter lynch me ternight,--I kin hear 'em talkin' f'm de winders
er de cell, suh."

"Well, _I_ say, Sandy, that they shall do no such thing! Lynch a man
brought up by a Delamere, for a crime of which he is innocent?
Preposterous! I'll speak to the authorities and see that you are
properly protected until this mystery is unraveled. If Tom had been
here, he would have had you out before now, Sandy. My grandson is a
genuine Delamere, is he not, Sandy?"

"Yas, suh, yas, suh," returned Sandy, with a lack of enthusiasm which he
tried to conceal from his master. "An' I s'pose ef he hadn' gone
fishin' so soon dis mawnin', he'd 'a' be'n lookin' after me, suh."

"It has been my love for him and your care of me, Sandy," said the old
gentleman tremulously, "that have kept me alive so long; but now explain
to me everything concerning this distressing matter, and I shall then be
able to state your case to better advantage."

"Well, suh," returned Sandy, "I mought's well tell de whole tale an' not
hol' nothin' back. I wuz kind er lonesome las' night, an' sence I be'n
tu'ned outen de chu'ch on account er dat cakewalk I didn' go ter, so
he'p me God! I didn' feel like gwine ter prayer-meetin', so I went
roun' ter see Solomon Williams, an' he wa'n't home, an' den I walk' down
street an' met Josh Green, an' he ax' me inter Sam Taylor's place, an' I
sot roun' dere wid Josh till 'bout 'leven o'clock, w'en I sta'ted back
home. I went straight ter de house, suh, an' went ter bed an' ter sleep
widout sayin' a wo'd ter a single soul excep' Mistuh Tom, who wuz
settin' up readin' a book w'en I come in. I wish I may drap dead in my
tracks, suh, ef dat ain't de God's truf, suh, eve'y wo'd of it!"

"I believe every word of it, Sandy; now tell me about the clothes that
you are said to have been found cleaning, and the suspicious articles
that were found in your room?"

"Dat's w'at beats me, Mars John," replied Sandy, shaking his head
mournfully. "Wen I lef home las' night after supper, my clo's wuz all
put erway in de closet in my room, folded up on de she'f ter keep de
moths out. Dey wuz my good clo's,--de blue coat dat you wo' ter de
weddin' fo'ty years ago, an' dem dere plaid pants I gun Mistuh Cohen fo'
dollars fer three years ago; an' w'en I looked in my closet dis mawnin',
suh, befo' I got ready ter sta't fer Belleview, dere wuz my clo's layin'
on de flo', all muddy an' crumple' up, des lack somebody had wo' 'em in
a fight! Somebody e'se had wo' my clo's,--er e'se dere'd be'n some
witchcraf, er some sort er devilment gwine on dat I can't make out, suh,
ter save my soul!"

"There was no witchcraft, Sandy, but that there was some deviltry might
well be. Now, what other negro, who might have been mistaken for you,
could have taken your clothes? Surely no one about the house?"

"No, suh, no, suh. It couldn't 'a' be'n Jeff, fer he wuz at Belleview
wid you; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n Billy, fer he wuz too little ter wear
my clo's; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n Sally, fer she's a 'oman. It's a
myst'ry ter me, suh!"

"Have you no enemies? Is there any one in Wellington whom you imagine
would like to do you an injury?"

"Not a livin' soul dat I knows of, suh. I've be'n tu'ned out'n de
chu'ch, but I don' know who my enemy is dere, er ef it wuz all a
mistake, like dis yer jailin' is; but de Debbil is in dis somewhar, Mars
John,--an' I got my reasons fer sayin' so."

"What do you mean, Sandy?"

Sandy related his experience of the preceding evening: how he had seen
the apparition preceding him to the house, and how he had questioned Tom
upon the subject.

"There's some mystery here, Sandy," said Mr. Delamere reflectively.
"Have you told me all, now, upon your honor? I am trying to save your
life, Sandy, and I must be able to trust your word implicitly. You must
tell me every circumstance; a very little and seemingly unimportant bit
of evidence may sometimes determine the issue of a great lawsuit. There
is one thing especially, Sandy: where did you get the gold which was
found in your trunk?"

Sandy's face lit up with hopefulness.

"Why, Mars John, I kin 'splain dat part easy. Dat wuz money I had lent
out, an' I got back f'm--But no, suh, I promise' not ter tell."

"Circumstances absolve you from your promise, Sandy. Your life is of
more value to you than any other thing. If you will explain where you
got the gold, and the silk purse that contained it, which is said to be
Mrs. Ochiltree's, you will be back home before night."

Old Mr. Delamere's faculties, which had been waning somewhat in sympathy
with his health, were stirred to unusual acuteness by his servant's
danger. He was watching Sandy with all the awakened instincts of the
trial lawyer. He could see clearly enough that, in beginning to account
for the possession of the gold, Sandy had started off with his
explanation in all sincerity. At the mention of the silk purse, however,
his face had blanched to an ashen gray, and the words had frozen upon
his lips.

A less discerning observer might have taken these things as signs of
guilt, but not so Mr. Delamere.

"Well, Sandy," said his master encouragingly, "go on. You got the gold
from"--

Sandy remained silent. He had had a great shock, and had taken a great
resolution.

"Mars John," he asked dreamily, "you don' b'lieve dat I done dis thing?"

"Certainly not, Sandy, else why should I be here?"

"An' nothin' wouldn' make you b'lieve it, suh?"

"No, Sandy,--I could not believe it of you. I've known you too long and
too well."

"An' you wouldn' b'lieve it, not even ef I wouldn' say one wo'd mo'
about it?"

"No, Sandy, I believe you no more capable of this crime than I would
be,--or my grandson, Tom. I wish Tom were here, that he might help me
overcome your stubbornness; but you'll not be so foolish, so absurdly
foolish, Sandy, as to keep silent and risk your life merely to shield
some one else, when by speaking you might clear up this mystery and be
restored at once to liberty. Just tell me where you got the gold," added
the old gentleman persuasively. "Come, now, Sandy, that's a good
fellow!"

"Mars John," asked Sandy softly, "w'en my daddy, 'way back yander befo'
de wah, wuz about ter be sol' away f'm his wife an' child'en, you
bought him an' dem, an' kep' us all on yo' place tergether, didn't you,
suh?"

"Yes, Sandy, and he was a faithful servant, and proved worthy of all I
did for him."

"And w'en he had wo'ked fer you ten years, suh, you sot 'im free?"

"Yes, Sandy, he had earned his freedom."

"An' w'en de wah broke out, an' my folks wuz scattered, an' I didn'
have nothin' ter do ner nowhar ter go, you kep' me on yo' place, and
tuck me ter wait on you, suh, didn't you?"

"Yes, Sandy, and you have been a good servant and a good friend; but
tell me now about this gold, and I'll go and get you out of this, right
away, for I need you, Sandy, and you'll not be of any use to me shut up
here!"

"Jes' hol' on a minute befo' you go, Mars John; fer ef dem people
outside should git holt er me befo' you _does_ git me out er here, I may
never see you no mo', suh, in dis worl'. W'en Mars Billy McLean shot me
by mistake, w'ile we wuz out huntin' dat day, who wuz it boun' up my
woun's an' kep' me from bleedin' ter def, an' kyar'ed me two miles on
his own shoulders ter a doctuh?"

"Yes, Sandy, and when black Sally ran away with your young mistress and
Tom, when Tom was a baby, who stopped the runaway, and saved their lives
at the risk of his own?"

"Dat wa'n't nothin', suh; anybody could 'a' done dat, w'at wuz strong
ernuff an' swif' ernuff. You is be'n good ter me, suh, all dese years,
an' I've tried ter do my duty by you, suh, an' by Mistuh Tom, who wuz
yo' own gran'son, an' de las' one er de fam'ly."

"Yes, you have, Sandy, and when I am gone, which will not be very long,
Tom will take care of you, and see that you never want. But we are
wasting valuable time, Sandy, in these old reminiscences. Let us get back
to the present. Tell me about the gold, now, so that I may at once look
after your safety. It may not even be necessary for you to remain here
all night."

"Jes' one wo'd mo', Mars John, befo' you go! I know you're gwine ter do
de bes' you kin fer me, an' I'm sorry I can't he'p you no mo' wid it;
but ef dere should be any accident, er ef you _can't_ git me out er
here, don' bother yo' min' 'bout it no mo', suh, an' don' git yo'se'f
ixcited, fer you know de doctuh says, suh, dat you can't stan'
ixcitement; but jes' leave me in de han's er de Lawd, suh,--_He'll_ look
after me, here er hereafter. I know I've fell f'm grace mo' d'n once,
but I've done made my peace wid Him in dis here jail-house, suh, an' I
ain't 'feared ter die--ef I haf ter. I ain' got no wife ner child'n ter
mo'n fer me, an' I'll die knowin' dat I've done my duty ter dem dat
hi'ed me, an' trusted me, an' had claims on me. Fer I wuz raise' by a
Delamere, suh, an' all de ole Delameres wuz gent'emen, an' deir
principles spread ter de niggers 'round 'em, suh; an' ef I has ter die
fer somethin' I didn' do,--I kin die, suh, like a gent'eman! But ez fer
dat gol', suh, I ain' gwine ter say one wo'd mo' 'bout it ter nobody in
dis worl'!"

Nothing could shake Sandy's determination. Mr. Delamere argued,
expostulated, but all in vain. Sandy would not speak.

More and more confident of some mystery, which would come out in time,
if properly investigated, Mr. Delamere, strangely beset by a vague
sense of discomfort over and beyond that occasioned by his servant's
danger, hurried away upon his errand of mercy. He felt less confident of
the outcome than when he had entered the jail, but was quite as much
resolved that no effort should be spared to secure protection for Sandy
until there had been full opportunity for the truth to become known.

"Take good care of your prisoner, sheriff," he said sternly, as he was
conducted to the door. "He will not be long in your custody, and I shall
see that you are held strictly accountable for his safety."

"I'll do what I can, sir," replied the sheriff in an even tone and
seemingly not greatly impressed by this warning. "If the prisoner is
taken from me, it will be because the force that comes for him is too
strong for resistance."

"There should be no force too strong for an honest man in your position
to resist,--whether successfully or not is beyond the question. The
officer who is intimidated by threats, or by his own fears, is recreant
to his duty, and no better than the mob which threatens him. But you
will have no such test, Mr. Wemyss! I shall see to it myself that there
is no violence!"

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In the jail, Mr. Delamere questions Sandy. Sandy pleads his innocence and Mr. Delamere believes him without question. Delamere tells Sandy that it has been his love for his grandson and Sandy's care that has kept him alive. Sandy then tells him the whole tale of the evening, how he was with Josh Green, and how he went straight home. He tells him that the biggest mystery is that he found his clothes -- his old fashioned jacket and pants -- on the floor as if someone else had worn them. Sandy suspects that it is either witchcraft or the devil that is responsible. Sandy also tells him about the ghost that he saw that evening and Delamere agrees that it all quite a mystery but that he is certain Sandy will be vindicated. Mr. Delamere then asks where Sandy got the gold and the purse. Sandy hesitates. He then begins to remind Delamere of all the good that he has done in his life. He reminds him how he bought his father and set him free after ten years and how he sheltered him during the war as his servant. Delamere acknowledges this and reminds Sandy that he has done some great services to the Delamere family as well. Sandy insists that, no matter what happens, Mr. Delamere will not get excited and that he will know that "I wuz raise' by a Delamere, suh, an' all de ole Delameres wuz gent'emen. I kin die, suh, like a gent'eman. Sandy respectfully declines to tell old Delamere where he got the coins. As he leaves, Mr. Delamere tells the sheriff not to let anything happen to Sandy since "The officer who is intimidated by threats, or by his own fears, is recreant to his duty, and no better than the mob which threatens him


prompt:
Chapter: Mr. Delamere's coachman, who, in accordance with instructions left by
Miller, had brought the carriage around to the jail and was waiting
anxiously at the nearest corner, drove up with some trepidation as he
saw his master emerge from the prison. The old gentleman entered the
carriage and gave the order to be driven to the office of the Morning
Chronicle. According to Jerry, the porter, whom he encountered at the
door, Carteret was in his office, and Mr. Delamere, with the aid of his
servant, climbed the stairs painfully and found the editor at his desk.

"Carteret," exclaimed Mr. Delamere, "what is all this talk about
lynching my man for murder and robbery and criminal assault? It's
perfectly absurd! The man was raised by me; he has lived in my house
forty years. He has been honest, faithful, and trustworthy. He would no
more be capable of this crime than you would, or my grandson Tom. Sandy
has too much respect for the family to do anything that would reflect
disgrace upon it."

"My dear Mr. Delamere," asked Carteret, with an indulgent smile, "how
could a negro possibly reflect discredit upon a white family? I should
really like to know."

"How, sir? A white family raised him. Like all the negroes, he has been
clay in the hands of the white people. They are what we have made them,
or permitted them to become."

"We are not God, Mr. Delamere! We do not claim to have created
these--masterpieces."

"No; but we thought to overrule God's laws, and we enslaved these people
for our greed, and sought to escape the manstealer's curse by laying to
our souls the flattering unction that we were making of barbarous
negroes civilized and Christian men. If we did not, if instead of making
them Christians we have made some of them brutes, we have only ourselves
to blame, and if these prey upon society, it is our just punishment! But
my negroes, Carteret, were well raised and well behaved. This man is
innocent of this offense, I solemnly affirm, and I want your aid to
secure his safety until a fair trial can be had."

"On your bare word, sir?" asked Carteret, not at all moved by this
outburst.

Old Mr. Delamere trembled with anger, and his withered cheek flushed
darkly, but he restrained his feelings, and answered with an attempt at
calmness:--

"Time was, sir, when the word of a Delamere was held as good as his
bond, and those who questioned it were forced to maintain their
skepticism upon the field of honor. Time was, sir, when the law was
enforced in this state in a manner to command the respect of the world!
Our lawyers, our judges, our courts, were a credit to humanity and
civilization. I fear I have outlasted my epoch,--I have lived to hear of
white men, the most favored of races, the heirs of civilization, the
conservators of liberty, howling like red Indians around a human being
slowly roasting at the stake."

"My dear sir," said Carteret soothingly, "you should undeceive yourself.
This man is no longer your property. The negroes are no longer under our
control, and with their emancipation ceased our responsibility. Their
insolence and disregard for law have reached a point where they must be
sternly rebuked."

"The law," retorted Mr. Delamere, "furnishes a sufficient penalty for
any crime, however heinous, and our code is by no means lenient. To my
old-fashioned notions, death would seem an adequate punishment for any
crime, and torture has been abolished in civilized countries for a
hundred years. It would be better to let a crime go entirely unpunished,
than to use it as a pretext for turning the whole white population into
a mob of primitive savages, dancing in hellish glee around the mangled
body of a man who has never been tried for a crime. All this, however,
is apart from my errand, which is to secure your assistance in heading
off this mob until Sandy can have a fair hearing and an opportunity to
prove his innocence."

"How can I do that, Mr. Delamere?"

"You are editor of the Morning Chronicle. The Chronicle is the leading
newspaper of the city. This morning's issue practically suggested the
mob; the same means will stop it. I will pay the expense of an extra
edition, calling off the mob, on the ground that newly discovered
evidence has shown the prisoner's innocence."

"But where is the evidence?" asked Carteret.

Again Mr. Delamere flushed and trembled. "My evidence, sir! I say the
negro was morally incapable of the crime. A man of forty-five does not
change his nature over-night. He is no more capable of a disgraceful
deed than my grandson would be!"

Carteret smiled sadly.

"I am sorry, Mr. Delamere," he said, "that you should permit yourself to
be so exercised about a worthless scoundrel who has forfeited his right
to live. The proof against him is overwhelming. As to his capability of
crime, we will apply your own test. You have been kept in the dark too
long, Mr. Delamere,--indeed, we all have,--about others as well as this
negro. Listen, sir: last night, at the Clarendon Club, Tom Delamere was
caught cheating outrageously at cards. He had been suspected for some
time; a trap was laid for him, and be fell into it. Out of regard for
you and for my family, he has been permitted to resign quietly, with the
understanding that he first pay off his debts, which are considerable."

Mr. Delamere's face, which had taken on some color in the excitement of
the interview, had gradually paled to a chalky white while Carteret was
speaking. His head sunk forward; already an old man, he seemed to have
aged ten years in but little more than as many seconds.

"Can this be true?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "Is it--entirely
authentic?"

"True as gospel; true as it is that Mrs. Ochiltree has been murdered,
and that this negro killed her. Ellis was at the club a few minutes
after the affair happened, and learned the facts from one of the
participants. Tom made no attempt at denial. We have kept the matter out
of the other papers, and I would have spared your feelings,--I surely
would not wish to wound them,--but the temptation proved too strong for
me, and it seemed the only way to convince you: it was your own test. If
a gentleman of a distinguished name and an honorable ancestry, with all
the restraining forces of social position surrounding him, to hold him
in check, can stoop to dishonor, what is the improbability of an
illiterate negro's being at least capable of crime?"

"Enough, sir," said the old gentleman. "You have proved enough. My
grandson may be a scoundrel,--I can see, in the light of this
revelation, how he might be; and he seems not to have denied it. I
maintain, nevertheless, that my man Sandy is innocent of the charge
against him. He has denied it, and it has not been proved. Carteret, I
owe that negro my life; he, and his father before him, have served me
and mine faithfully and well. I cannot see him killed like a dog,
without judge or jury,--no, not even if he were guilty, which I do not
believe!"

Carteret felt a twinge of remorse for the pain he had inflicted upon
this fine old man, this ideal gentleman of the ideal past,--the past
which he himself so much admired and regretted. He would like to spare
his old friend any further agitation; he was in a state of health where
too great excitement might prove fatal. But how could he? The negro was
guilty, and sure to die sooner or later. He had not meant to interfere,
and his intervention might be fruitless.

"Mr. Delamere," he said gently, "there is but one way to gain time. You
say the negro is innocent. Appearances are against him. The only way to
clear him is to produce the real criminal, or prove an alibi. If you, or
some other white man of equal standing, could swear that the negro was
in your presence last night at any hour when this crime could have taken
place, it might be barely possible to prevent the lynching for the
present; and when he is tried, which will probably be not later than
next week, he will have every opportunity to defend himself, with you
to see that he gets no less than justice. I think it can be managed,
though there is still a doubt. I will do my best, for your sake, Mr.
Delamere,--solely for your sake, be it understood, and not for that of
the negro, in whom you are entirely deceived."

"I shall not examine your motives, Carteret," replied the other, "if you
can bring about what I desire."

"Whatever is done," added Carteret, "must be done quickly. It is now
four o'clock; no one can answer for what may happen after seven. If he
can prove an alibi, there may yet be time to save him. White men might
lynch a negro on suspicion; they would not kill a man who was proven, by
the word of white men, to be entirely innocent."

"I do not know," returned Mr. Delamere, shaking his head sadly. "After
what you have told me, it is no longer safe to assume what white men
will or will not do;--what I have learned here has shaken my faith in
humanity. I am going away, but shall return in a short time. Shall I
find you here?"

"I will await your return," said Carteret.

He watched Mr. Delamere pityingly as the old man moved away on the arm
of the coachman waiting in the hall. He did not believe that Mr.
Delamere could prove an alibi for his servant, and without some positive
proof the negro would surely die,--as he well deserved to die.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Old Mr. Delamere goes to the Morning Chronicle offices to question Major Carteret. He exclaims that Sandy "has too much respect for the family to do anything that would reflect disgrace upon it" and demands that the Morning Chronicle print the news that new evidence has come forward, the word of Mr. Delamere himself. When Carteret refuses to accept Delamere's word, the old man becomes furious. Delamere tells Carteret that his paper is doing nothing more than making "white men, the most favored of races, the heirs of civilization, the conservators of liberty, howl like red Indians around a human being slowly roasting at the stake. Carteret sadly tells Delamere that he has allowed himself to be deceived by a "worthless scoundrel who has forfeited his right to live. He then tells Delamere that his grandson, Tom, had been caught the evening before cheating at cards. He is being dismissed from the club on the condition that he pay back his considerable debts. The news devastates Delamere. He is certain, however, that though his grandson might be a scoundrel his servant is not a murderer. Carteret tells him that the only way to prevent a lynching that evening is to find a credible white person that will testify to Sandy's innocence. If this happens, there might be a chance for a trial and for Sandy to defend himself. Delamere leaves the offices with only a few hours before dark


prompt:
Chapter: Mr. Ellis was vaguely uncomfortable. In the first excitement following
the discovery of the crime, he had given his bit of evidence, and had
shared the universal indignation against the murderer. When public
feeling took definite shape in the intention to lynch the prisoner,
Ellis felt a sudden sense of responsibility growing upon himself. When
he learned, an hour later, that it was proposed to burn the negro, his
part in the affair assumed a still graver aspect; for his had been the
final word to fix the prisoner's guilt.

Ellis did not believe in lynch law. He had argued against it, more than
once, in private conversation, and had written several editorials
against the practice, while in charge of the Morning Chronicle during
Major Carteret's absence. A young man, however, and merely representing
another, he had not set up as a reformer, taking rather the view that
this summary method of punishing crime, with all its possibilities of
error, to say nothing of the resulting disrespect of the law and
contempt for the time-honored methods of establishing guilt, was a mere
temporary symptom of the unrest caused by the unsettled relations of the
two races at the South. There had never before been any special need for
any vigorous opposition to lynch law, so far as the community was
concerned, for there had not been a lynching in Wellington since Ellis
had come there, eight years before, from a smaller town, to seek a place
for himself in the world of action. Twenty years before, indeed, there
had been wild doings, during the brief Ku-Klux outbreak, but that was
before Ellis's time,--or at least when he was but a child. He had come
of a Quaker family,--the modified Quakers of the South,--and while
sharing in a general way the Southern prejudice against the negro, his
prejudices had been tempered by the peaceful tenets of his father's
sect. His father had been a Whig, and a non-slaveholder; and while he
had gone with the South in the civil war so far as a man of peace could
go, he had not done so for love of slavery.

As the day wore on, Ellis's personal responsibility for the intended
_auto-da-fe_ bore more heavily upon him. Suppose he had been wrong? He
had seen the accused negro; he had recognized him by his clothes, his
whiskers, his spectacles, and his walk; but he had also seen another
man, who resembled Sandy so closely that but for the difference in their
clothes, he was forced to acknowledge, he could not have told them
apart. Had he not seen the first man, he would have sworn with even
greater confidence that the second was Sandy. There had been, he
recalled, about one of the men--he had not been then nor was he now able
to tell which--something vaguely familiar, and yet seemingly discordant
to whichever of the two it was, or, as it seemed to him now, to any man
of that race. His mind reverted to the place where he had last seen
Sandy, and then a sudden wave of illumination swept over him, and filled
him with a thrill of horror. The cakewalk,--the dancing,--the
speech,--they were not Sandy's at all, nor any negro's! It was a white
man who had stood in the light of the street lamp, so that the casual
passer-by might see and recognize in him old Mr. Delamere's servant. The
scheme was a dastardly one, and worthy of a heart that was something
worse than weak and vicious.

Ellis resolved that the negro should not, if he could prevent it, die
for another's crime; but what proof had he himself to offer in support
of his theory? Then again, if he denounced Tom Delamere as the murderer,
it would involve, in all probability, the destruction of his own hopes
with regard to Clara. Of course she could not marry Delamere after the
disclosure,--the disgraceful episode at the club would have been enough
to make that reasonably certain; it had put a nail in Delamere's coffin,
but this crime had driven it in to the head and clinched it. On the
other hand, would Miss Pemberton ever speak again to the man who had
been the instrument of bringing disgrace upon the family? Spies,
detectives, police officers, may be useful citizens, but they are rarely
pleasant company for other people. We fee the executioner, but we do not
touch his bloody hand. We might feel a certain tragic admiration for
Brutus condemning his sons to death, but we would scarcely invite Brutus
to dinner after the event. It would harrow our feelings too much.

Perhaps, thought Ellis, there might be a way out of the dilemma. It
might be possible to save this innocent negro without, for the time
being, involving Delamere. He believed that murder will out, but it need
not be through his initiative. He determined to go to the jail and
interview the prisoner, who might give such an account of himself as
would establish his innocence beyond a doubt. If so, Ellis would exert
himself to stem the tide of popular fury. If, as a last resort, he
could save Sandy only by denouncing Delamere, he would do his duty, let
it cost him what it might.

The gravity of his errand was not lessened by what he saw and heard on
the way to the jail. The anger of the people was at a white heat. A
white woman had been assaulted and murdered by a brutal negro. Neither
advanced age, nor high social standing, had been able to protect her
from the ferocity of a black savage. Her sex, which should have been her
shield and buckler, had made her an easy mark for the villainy of a
black brute. To take the time to try him would be a criminal waste of
public money. To hang him would be too slight a punishment for so
dastardly a crime. An example must be made.

Already the preparations were under way for the impending execution. A
T-rail from the railroad yard had been procured, and men were burying it
in the square before the jail. Others were bringing chains, and a load
of pine wood was piled in convenient proximity. Some enterprising
individual had begun the erection of seats from which, for a pecuniary
consideration, the spectacle might be the more easily and comfortably
viewed.

Ellis was stopped once or twice by persons of his acquaintance. From one
he learned that the railroads would run excursions from the neighboring
towns in order to bring spectators to the scene; from another that the
burning was to take place early in the evening, so that the children
might not be kept up beyond their usual bedtime. In one group that he
passed he heard several young men discussing the question of which
portions of the negro's body they would prefer for souvenirs. Ellis
shuddered and hastened forward. Whatever was to be done must be done
quickly, or it would be too late. He saw that already it would require a
strong case in favor of the accused to overcome the popular verdict.

Going up the steps of the jail, he met Mr. Delamere, who was just coming
out, after a fruitless interview with Sandy.

"Mr. Ellis," said the old gentleman, who seemed greatly agitated, "this
is monstrous!"

"It is indeed, sir!" returned the younger man. "I mean to stop it if I
can. The negro did not kill Mrs. Ochiltree."

Mr. Delamere looked at Ellis keenly, and, as Ellis recalled afterwards,
there was death in his eyes. Unable to draw a syllable from Sandy, he
had found his servant's silence more eloquent than words. Ellis felt a
presentiment that this affair, however it might terminate, would be
fatal to this fine old man, whom the city could ill spare, in spite of
his age and infirmities.

"Mr. Ellis," asked Mr. Delamere, in a voice which trembled with
ill-suppressed emotion, "do you know who killed her?"

Ellis felt a surging pity for his old friend; but every step that he had
taken toward the jail had confirmed and strengthened his own resolution
that this contemplated crime, which he dimly felt to be far more
atrocious than that of which Sandy was accused, in that it involved a
whole community rather than one vicious man, should be stopped at any
cost. Deplorable enough had the negro been guilty, it became, in view of
his certain innocence, an unspeakable horror, which for all time would
cover the city with infamy. "Mr. Delamere," he replied, looking the
elder man squarely in the eyes, "I think I do,--and I am very sorry."

"And who was it, Mr. Ellis?"

He put the question hopelessly, as though the answer were a foregone
conclusion.

"I do not wish to say at present," replied Ellis, with a remorseful
pang, "unless it becomes absolutely necessary, to save the negro's life.
Accusations are dangerous,--as this case proves,--unless the proof, be
certain."

For a moment it seemed as though Mr. Delamere would collapse upon the
spot. Rallying almost instantly, however, he took the arm which Ellis
involuntarily offered, and said with an effort:--

"Mr. Ellis, you are a gentleman whom it is an honor to know. If you have
time, I wish you would go with me to my house,--I can hardly trust
myself alone,--and thence to the Chronicle office. This thing shall be
stopped, and you will help me stop it."

It required but a few minutes to cover the half mile that lay between
the prison and Mr. Delamere's residence.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mr. Ellis becomes uncomfortable at the thought of lynching Sandy. It was his testimony that put Sandy in jail and that now threatened to condemn him to death. Ellis is against lynching, and he wrote against it several times in the Morning Chronicle. Though he grew up in the South, he had never been a supporter of slavery or violence. As the evening approaches, he feels more and more responsibility for "the intended auto-da-fe" and is less certain about what he actually saw. As he begins to think of the last time he saw Sandy at the cakewalk, he realizes that what he really saw was a white man impersonating a black man. He knows that it is Tom Delamere. His first worry is that if he names Tom Delamere as the murderer, he will lose all chance with Clara. Though he will do a just thing, it will not be rewarded with love. We might feel a certain tragic admiration for Brutus condemning his sons to death, but we would scarcely invite Brutus to dinner after the event. He decides to go to the jail and protest against the killing, naming Tom as the murderer only if it will save Sandy's life. As he goes, he sees the preparations for the burning taking place. A fire pit and stake have been created in the center of town. Bleachers have been erected and the burning has been set for early in the evening "so that the children might not be kept up beyond their usual bedtime. Ellis overhears several young men discussing which body parts they will keep as souvenirs. As he approaches the jailhouse, he meets old Mr. Delamere. Ellis tells him that he plans to save Sandy, but that he will not yet name the murderer. He can tell that this affair will be the end of Mr. Delamere


prompt:
Chapter: Mr. Delamere went immediately to his grandson's room, which he entered
alone, closing and locking the door behind him. He had requested Ellis
to wait in the carriage.

The bed had been made, and the room was apparently in perfect order.
There was a bureau in the room, through which Mr. Delamere proceeded to
look thoroughly. Finding one of the drawers locked, he tried it with a
key of his own, and being unable to unlock it, took a poker from beside
the stove and broke it ruthlessly open.

The contents served to confirm what he had heard concerning his
grandson's character. Thrown together in disorderly confusion were
bottles of wine and whiskey; soiled packs of cards; a dice-box with
dice; a box of poker chips, several revolvers, and a number of
photographs and paper-covered books at which the old gentleman merely
glanced to ascertain their nature.

So far, while his suspicion had been strengthened, he had found nothing
to confirm it. He searched the room more carefully, and found, in the
wood-box by the small heating-stove which stood in the room, a torn and
crumpled bit of paper. Stooping to pick this up, his eye caught a gleam
of something yellow beneath the bureau, which lay directly in his line
of vision.

First he smoothed out the paper. It was apparently the lower half of a
label, or part of the cover of a small box, torn diagonally from corner
to corner. From the business card at the bottom, which gave the name, of
a firm of manufacturers of theatrical supplies in a Northern city, and
from the letters remaining upon the upper and narrower half, the bit of
paper had plainly formed part of the wrapper of a package of burnt cork.

Closing his fingers spasmodically over this damning piece of evidence,
Mr. Delamere knelt painfully, and with the aid of his cane drew out from
under the bureau the yellow object which, had attracted his attention.
It was a five-dollar gold piece of a date back toward the beginning of
the century.

To make assurance doubly sure, Mr. Delamere summoned the cook from the
kitchen in the back yard. In answer to her master's questions, Sally
averred that Mr. Tom had got up very early, had knocked at her
window,--she slept in a room off the kitchen in the yard,--and had told
her that she need not bother about breakfast for him, as he had had a
cold bite from the pantry; that he was going hunting and fishing, and
would be gone all day. According to Sally, Mr. Tom had come in about ten
o'clock the night before. He had forgotten his night-key, Sandy was out,
and she had admitted him with her own key. He had said that he was very
tired and was going, immediately to bed.

Mr. Delamere seemed perplexed; the crime had been committed later in the
evening than ten o'clock. The cook cleared up the mystery.

"I reckon he must 'a' be'n dead ti'ed, suh, fer I went back ter his room
fifteen er twenty minutes after he come in fer ter fin' out w'at he
wanted fer breakfus'; an' I knock' two or three times, rale ha'd, an'
Mistuh Tom didn' wake up no mo' d'n de dead. He sho'ly had a good
sleep, er he'd never 'a' got up so ea'ly."

"Thank you, Sally," said Mr. Delamere, when the woman had finished,
"that will do."

"Will you be home ter suppah, suh?" asked the cook.

"Yes."

It was a matter of the supremest indifference to Mr. Delamere whether he
should ever eat again, but he would not betray his feelings to a
servant. In a few minutes he was driving rapidly with Ellis toward the
office of the Morning Chronicle. Ellis could see that Mr. Delamere had
discovered something of tragic import. Neither spoke. Ellis gave all his
attention to the horses, and Mr. Delamere remained wrapped in his own
sombre reflections.

When they reached the office, they were informed by Jerry that Major
Carteret was engaged with General Belmont and Captain McBane. Mr.
Delamere knocked peremptorily at the door of the inner office, which was
opened by Carteret in person.

"Oh, it is you, Mr. Delamere."

"Carteret," exclaimed Mr. Delamere, "I must speak to you immediately,
and alone."

"Excuse me a moment, gentlemen," said Carteret, turning to those within
the room. "I'll be back in a moment--don't go away."

Ellis had left the room, closing the door behind him. Mr. Delamere and
Carteret were quite alone.

"Carteret," declared the old gentleman, "this murder must not take
place."

"'Murder' is a hard word," replied the editor, frowning slightly.

"It is the right word," rejoined Mr. Delamere, decidedly. "It would be a
foul and most unnatural murder, for Sandy did not kill Mrs. Ochiltree."

Carteret with difficulty restrained a smile of pity. His old friend was
very much excited, as the tremor in his voice gave proof. The criminal
was his trusted servant, who had proved unworthy of confidence. No one
could question Mr. Delamere's motives; but he was old, his judgment was
no longer to be relied upon. It was a great pity that he should so
excite and overstrain himself about a worthless negro, who had forfeited
his life for a dastardly crime. Mr. Delamere had had two paralytic
strokes, and a third might prove fatal. He must be dealt with gently.

"Mr. Delamere," he said, with patient tolerance, "I think you are
deceived. There is but one sure way to stop this execution. If your
servant is innocent, you must produce the real criminal. If the negro,
with such overwhelming proofs against him, is not guilty, who is?"

"I will tell you who is," replied Mr. Delamere. "The murderer is,"--the
words came with a note of anguish, as though torn from his very
heart,--"the murderer is Tom Delamere, my own grandson!"

"Impossible, sir!" exclaimed Carteret, starting back involuntarily.
"That could not be! The man was seen leaving the house, and he was
black!"

"All cats are gray in the dark, Carteret; and, moreover, nothing is
easier than for a white man to black his face. God alone knows how many
crimes have been done in this guise! Tom Delamere, to get the money to
pay his gambling debts, committed this foul murder, and then tried to
fasten it upon as honest and faithful a soul as ever trod the earth."

Carteret, though at first overwhelmed by this announcement, perceived
with quick intuition that it might easily be true. It was but a step
from fraud to crime, and in Delamere's need of money there lay a
palpable motive for robbery,--the murder may have been an afterthought.
Delamere knew as much about the cedar chest as the negro could have
known, and more.

But a white man must not be condemned without proof positive.

"What foundation is there, sir," he asked, "for this astounding charge?"

Mr. Delamere related all that had taken place since he had left
Belleview a couple of hours before, and as he proceeded, step by step,
every word carried conviction to Carteret. Tom Delamere's skill as a
mimic and a negro impersonator was well known; he had himself laughed at
more than one of his performances. There had been a powerful motive, and
Mr. Delamere's discoveries had made clear the means. Tom's unusual
departure, before breakfast, on a fishing expedition was a suspicious
circumstance. There was a certain devilish ingenuity about the affair
which he would hardly have expected of Tom Delamere, but for which the
reason was clear enough. One might have thought that Tom would have been
satisfied with merely blacking his face, and leaving to chance the
identification of the negro who might be apprehended. He would hardly
have implicated, out of pure malignity, his grandfather's old servant,
who had been his own care-taker for many years. Here, however, Carteret
could see where Tom's own desperate position operated to furnish a
probable motive for the crime. The surest way to head off suspicion from
himself was to direct it strongly toward some particular person, and
this he had been able to do conclusively by his access to Sandy's
clothes, his skill in making up to resemble him, and by the episode of
the silk purse. By placing himself beyond reach during the next day, he
would not be called upon to corroborate or deny any inculpating
statements which Sandy might make, and in the very probable case that
the crime should be summarily avenged, any such statements on Sandy's
part would be regarded as mere desperate subterfuges of the murderer to
save his own life. It was a bad affair.

"The case seems clear," said Carteret reluctantly but conclusively. "And
now, what shall we do about it?"

"I want you to print a handbill," said Mr. Delamere, "and circulate it
through the town, stating that Sandy Campbell is innocent and Tom
Delamere guilty of this crime. If this is not done, I will go myself and
declare it to all who will listen, and I will publicly disown the
villain who is no more grandson of mine. There is no deeper sink of
iniquity into which he could fall."

Carteret's thoughts were chasing one another tumultuously. There could
be no doubt that the negro was innocent, from the present aspect of
affairs, and he must not be lynched; but in what sort of position would
the white people be placed, if Mr. Delamere carried out his Spartan
purpose of making the true facts known? The white people of the city had
raised the issue of their own superior morality, and had themselves made
this crime a race question. The success of the impending "revolution,"
for which he and his _confreres_ had labored so long, depended in large
measure upon the maintenance of their race prestige, which would be
injured in the eyes of the world by such a fiasco. While they might yet
win by sheer force, their cause would suffer in the court of morals,
where they might stand convicted as pirates, instead of being applauded
as patriots. Even the negroes would have the laugh on them,--the people
whom they hoped to make approve and justify their own despoilment. To be
laughed at by the negroes was a calamity only less terrible than failure
or death.

Such an outcome of an event which had already been heralded to the four
corners of the earth would throw a cloud of suspicion upon the stories
of outrage which had gone up from the South for so many years, and had
done so much to win the sympathy of the North for the white South and to
alienate it from the colored people. The reputation of the race was
threatened. They must not lynch the negro, and yet, for the credit of
the town, its aristocracy, and the race, the truth of this ghastly story
must not see the light,--at least not yet.

"Mr. Delamere," he exclaimed, "I am shocked and humiliated. The negro
must be saved, of course, but--consider the family honor."

"Tom is no longer a member of my family. I disown him. He has covered
the family name--my name, sir--with infamy. We have no longer a family
honor. I wish never to hear his name spoken again!"

For several minutes Carteret argued with his old friend. Then he went
into the other room and consulted with General Belmont. As a result of
these conferences, and of certain urgent messages sent out, within half
an hour thirty or forty of the leading citizens of Wellington were
gathered in the Morning Chronicle office. Several other curious persons,
observing that there was something in the wind, and supposing correctly
that it referred to the projected event of the evening, crowded in with
those who had been invited.

Carteret was in another room, still arguing with Mr. Delamere. "It's a
mere formality, sir," he was saying suavely, "accompanied by a mental
reservation. We know the facts; but this must be done to justify us, in
the eyes of the mob, in calling them off before they accomplish their
purpose."

"Carteret," said the old man, in a voice eloquent of the struggle
through which he had passed, "I would not perjure myself to prolong my
own miserable existence another day, but God will forgive a sin
committed to save another's life. Upon your head be it, Carteret, and
not on mine!"

"Gentlemen," said Carteret, entering with Mr. Delamere the room where
the men were gathered, and raising his hand for silence, "the people of
Wellington were on the point of wreaking vengeance upon a negro who was
supposed to have been guilty of a terrible crime. The white men of this
city, impelled by the highest and holiest sentiments, were about to take
steps to defend their hearthstones and maintain the purity and
ascendency of their race. Your purpose sprung from hearts wounded in
their tenderest susceptibilities."

"'Rah, 'rah!" shouted a tipsy sailor, who had edged in with the crowd.

"But this same sense of justice," continued Carteret oratorically,
"which would lead you to visit swift and terrible punishment upon the
guilty, would not permit you to slay an innocent man. Even a negro, as
long as he behaves himself and keeps in his place, is entitled to the
protection of the law. We may be stern and unbending in the punishment
of crime, as befits our masterful race, but we hold the scales of
justice with even and impartial hand."

"'Rah f' 'mpa'tial ban'!" cried the tipsy sailor, who was immediately
ejected with slight ceremony.

"We have discovered, beyond a doubt, that the negro Sandy Campbell, now
in custody, did not commit this robbery and murder, but that it was
perpetrated by some unknown man, who has fled from the city. Our
venerable and distinguished fellow townsman, Mr. Delamere, in whose
employment this Campbell has been for many years, will vouch for his
character, and states, furthermore, that Campbell was with him all last
night, covering any hour at which this crime could have been committed."

"If Mr. Delamere will swear to that," said some one in the crowd, "the
negro should not be lynched."

There were murmurs of dissent. The preparations had all been made. There
would be great disappointment if the lynching did not occur.

"Let Mr. Delamere swear, if he wants to save the nigger," came again
from the crowd.

"Certainly," assented Carteret. "Mr. Delamere can have no possible
objection to taking the oath. Is there a notary public present, or a
justice of the peace?"

A man stepped forward. "I am a justice of the peace," he announced.

"Very well, Mr. Smith," said Carteret, recognizing the speaker. "With
your permission, I will formulate the oath, and Mr. Delamere may repeat
it after me, if he will. I solemnly swear,"--

"I solemnly swear,"--

Mr. Delamere's voice might have come from the tomb, so hollow and
unnatural did it sound.

"So help me God,"--

"So help me God,"--

"That the negro Sandy Campbell, now in jail on the charge of murder,
robbery, and assault, was in my presence last night between the hours of
eight and two o'clock."

Mr. Delamere repeated this statement in a firm voice; but to Ellis, who
was in the secret, his words fell upon the ear like clods dropping upon
the coffin in an open grave.

"I wish to add," said General Belmont, stepping forward, "that it is not
our intention to interfere, by anything which may be done at this
meeting, with the orderly process of the law, or to advise the
prisoner's immediate release. The prisoner will remain in custody, Mr.
Delamere, Major Carteret, and I guaranteeing that he will be proved
entirely innocent at the preliminary hearing to-morrow morning."

Several of those present looked relieved; others were plainly,
disappointed; but when the meeting ended, the news went out that the
lynching had been given up. Carteret immediately wrote and had struck
off a handbill giving a brief statement of the proceedings, and sent out
a dozen boys to distribute copies among the people in the streets. That
no precaution might be omitted, a call was issued to the Wellington
Grays, the crack independent military company of the city, who in an
incredibly short time were on guard at the jail. Thus a slight change
in the point of view had demonstrated the entire ability of the leading
citizens to maintain the dignified and orderly processes of the law
whenever they saw fit to do so.

       *       *       *       *       *

The night passed without disorder, beyond the somewhat rough handling of
two or three careless negroes that came in the way of small parties of
the disappointed who had sought alcoholic consolation.

At ten o'clock the next morning, a preliminary hearing of the charge
against Campbell was had before a magistrate. Mr. Delamere, perceptibly
older and more wizened than he had seemed the day before, and leaning
heavily on the arm of a servant, repeated his statement of the evening
before. Only one or two witnesses were called, among whom was Mr. Ellis,
who swore positively that in his opinion the prisoner was not the man
whom he had seen and at first supposed to be Campbell. The most
sensational piece of testimony was that of Dr. Price, who had examined
the body, and who swore that the wound in the head was not necessarily
fatal, and might have been due to a fall,--that she had more than likely
died of shock attendant upon the robbery, she being of advanced age and
feeble health. There was no evidence, he said, of any other personal
violence.

Sandy was not even bound over to the grand jury, but was discharged upon
the ground that there was not sufficient evidence upon which to hold
him. Upon his release he received the congratulations of many present,
some of whom would cheerfully have done him to death a few hours before.
With the childish fickleness of a mob, they now experienced a
satisfaction almost as great as, though less exciting than, that
attendant upon taking life. We speak of the mysteries of inanimate
nature. The workings of the human heart are the profoundest mystery of
the universe. One moment they make us despair of our kind, and the next
we see in them the reflection of the divine image. Sandy, having thus
escaped from the Mr. Hyde of the mob, now received the benediction of
its Dr. Jekyll. Being no cynical philosopher, and realizing how nearly
the jaws of death had closed upon him, he was profoundly grateful for
his escape, and felt not the slightest desire to investigate or
criticise any man's motives.

With the testimony of Dr. Price, the worst feature of the affair came to
an end. The murder eliminated or rendered doubtful, the crime became a
mere vulgar robbery, the extent of which no one could estimate, since no
living soul knew how much money Mrs. Ochiltree had had in the cedar
chest. The absurdity of the remaining charge became more fully apparent
in the light of the reaction from the excitement of the day before.

Nothing further was ever done about the case; but though the crime went
unpunished, it carried evil in its train. As we have seen, the charge
against Campbell had been made against the whole colored race. All over
the United States the Associated Press had flashed the report of another
dastardly outrage by a burly black brute,--all black brutes it seems are
burly,--and of the impending lynching with its prospective horrors. This
news, being highly sensational in its character, had been displayed in
large black type on the front pages of the daily papers. The dispatch
that followed, to the effect that the accused had been found innocent
and the lynching frustrated, received slight attention, if any, in a
fine-print paragraph on an inside page. The facts of the case never came
out at all. The family honor of the Delameres was preserved, and the
prestige of the white race in Wellington was not seriously impaired.

       *       *       *       *       *

Upon leaving the preliminary hearing, old Mr. Delamere had requested
General Belmont to call at his house during the day upon professional
business. This the general did in the course of the afternoon.

"Belmont," said Mr. Delamere, "I wish to make my will. I should have
drawn it with my own hand; but you know my motives, and can testify to
my soundness of mind and memory."

He thereupon dictated a will, by the terms of which he left to his
servant, Sandy Campbell, three thousand dollars, as a mark of the
testator's appreciation of services rendered and sufferings endured by
Sandy on behalf of his master. After some minor dispositions, the whole
remainder of the estate was devised to Dr. William Miller, in trust for
the uses of his hospital and training-school for nurses, on condition
that the institution be incorporated and placed under the management of
competent trustees. Tom Delamere was not mentioned in the will.

"There, Belmont," he said, "that load is off my mind. Now, if you will
call in some witnesses,--most of my people can write,--I shall feel
entirely at ease."

The will was signed by Mr. Delamere, and witnessed by Jeff and Billy,
two servants in the house, neither of whom received any information as
to its contents, beyond the statement that they were witnessing their
master's will. "I wish to leave that with you for safe keeping,
Belmont," said Mr. Delamere, after the witnesses had retired. "Lock it
up in your safe until I die, which will not be very long, since I have
no further desire to live."

An hour later Mr. Delamere suffered a third paralytic stroke, from which
he died two days afterwards, without having in the meantime recovered
the power of speech.

The will was never produced. The servants stated, and General Belmont
admitted, that Mr. Delamere had made a will a few days before his death;
but since it was not discoverable, it seemed probable that the testator
had destroyed it. This was all the more likely, the general was inclined
to think, because the will had been of a most unusual character. What
the contents of the will were, he of course did not state, it having
been made under the seal of professional secrecy.

This suppression was justified by the usual race argument: Miller's
hospital was already well established, and, like most negro
institutions, could no doubt rely upon Northern philanthropy for any
further support it might need. Mr. Delamere's property belonged of right
to the white race, and by the higher law should remain in the possession
of white people. Loyalty to one's race was a more sacred principle than
deference to a weak old man's whims.

Having reached this conclusion, General Belmont's first impulse was to
destroy the will; on second thoughts he locked it carefully away in his
safe. He would hold it awhile. It might some time be advisable to talk
the matter over with young Delamere, who was of a fickle disposition and
might wish to change his legal adviser.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mr. Delamere goes to his home and immediately enters his grandson's room. He uses a stove poker to force open a locked drawer and finds the evidence of his grandson's licentious behavior: dice, bottles of whiskey, cards, and photographs "which the old gentleman merely glanced to ascertain their nature. Mr. Delamere spots a gleam of gold in the corner and reaches down to find a five-dollar gold piece. Mr. Delamere interrogates his cook who confirms that Tom came in late and then did not awake when she asked him about his breakfast. Delamere goes back to the Morning Chronicle office and speaks with Major Carteret. He relays the information. He painfully tells the Major that his grandson committed the murder. When Carteret questions him further, Delamere gives the entire list of evidence against his grandson. Carteret sees that Sandy is clearly innocent, but the situation is difficult now. The white people of the city had raised the issue of their superior morality, and had themselves made this crime a race question. The success of the impending 'revolution'. depended in large measure upon the maintenance of their race prestige, which would be injured in the eyes of the world by such a fiasco. The only solution that Carteret can come up with is for Delamere to perjure himself by swearing that Sandy was with him the night of the murder. He does so and a bill is sent out to the city with the new facts of the case. The mob who would have lynched Sandy disperses. This "slight change in the point of view had demonstrated the entire ability of the leading citizens to maintain the dignified and orderly process of the law whenever they saw fit to do so. Sandy is discharged from jail the next day and all those that wanted to lynch him now congratulated him on his freedom. Sandy, having thus escaped from the Mr. Hyde of the mob, now received the benediction of its Dr. Jekyll. No further action is taken on the case. The next day, Mr. Delamere calls General Belmont to his house where he drafts a new will, leaving all his possessions to Sandy and to Dr. Miller's hospital. An hour later, Mr. Delamere suffers a final stroke, which kills him. General Belmont decides not to hand over the will, but keeps it in safekeeping just in case Tom Delamere needs to know of its existence