She took the young man's hand again in hers and led him to a high-backed
mahogany settee. She stroked the hands with her thin, cold fingers.
"How perfect the image of your mother! I would have known you anywhere.
_You_ must know and trust me. I was sent North to school. I came back to
Virginia a more determined Abolitionist than ever. Our people have
always hated Slavery. I made good my faith by freeing mine. We're not
so well-to-do now, my mother and I."
She paused and looked wistfully about the stately room.
"This house could tell the story of gay and beautiful scenes--of
balls--receptions and garden parties in bowers of roses--of coaches
drawn by six snow-white horses standing at our door for the start to the
White Sulphur Springs--"
She stopped suddenly, mastered her emotions and went on dreamily:
"Of great men and distinguished families our guests from the North and
the South--Bishop Mann, Chief Justice John Marshall, the Lees, the
Robinsons, Wickhams, Adams, Cabells,--the Carringtons--Fredrika Bremer,
the Swedish novelist, visited us and wrote of us in her 'Homes in the
New World.' Jennie Lind in the height of her glory sang in this room.
Edgar Allan Poe read here aloud his immortal poem, 'The Raven.' You must
realize what it means to me to become an outcast in Richmond--"
She drew from her bosom a newspaper clipping and handed it to Socola.
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