at the race antagonism which hampered his progress and that of his
people was a mere temporary thing, the outcome of former conditions, and
bound to disappear in time, and that when a colored man should
demonstrate to the community in which he lived that he possessed
character and power, that community would find a way in which to enlist
his services for the public good.

He had already made himself useful, and had received many kind words and
other marks of appreciation. He was now offered a further confirmation
of his theory: having recognized his skill, the white people were now
ready to take advantage of it. Any lurking doubt he may have felt when
first invited by Dr. Burns to participate in the operation, had been
dispelled by Dr. Price's prompt acquiescence.

On the way homeward Miller told his wife of this appointment. She was
greatly interested; she was herself a mother, with an only child.
Moreover, there was a stronger impulse than mere humanity to draw her
toward the stricken mother. Janet had a tender heart, and could have
loved this white sister, her sole living relative of whom she knew. All
her life long she had yearned for a kind word, a nod, a smile, the least
thing that imagination might have twisted into a recognition of the tie
between them. But it had never come.

And yet Janet was not angry. She was of a forgiving temper; she could
never bear malice. She was educated, had read many books, and
appreciated to the full the social forces arrayed against any such
recognition as she had dreamed of. Of the two barriers between them a
man might have forgiven the one; a woman would not be likely to overlook
either the bar sinister or the difference of race, even to the slight
extent of a silent recognition. Blood is thicker than water, but, if it
flow too far from conventional channels, may turn to gall and wormwood.
Nevertheless, when the heart speaks, reason falls into the background,
and Janet would have worshiped this sister, even afar off, had she
received even the slightest encouragement. So strong was this weakness
that she had been angry with herself for her lack of pride, or even of a
decent self-respect. It was, she sometimes thought, the heritage of her
mother's race, and she was ashamed of it as part of the taint of
slavery. She had never acknowledged, even to her husband, from whom she
concealed nothing else, her secret thoughts upon this lifelong sorrow.
This silent grief was nature's penalt