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.