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.”