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 penalty, or society’s revenge, for whatever heritage of beauty or intellect or personal charm had come to her with her father’s blood.  For she had received no other inheritance.  Her sister was rich by right of her birth; if Janet had been fortunate, her good fortune had not been due to any provision made for her by her white father.

She knew quite well how passionately, for many years, her proud sister had longed and prayed in vain for the child which had at length brought joy into her household, and she could feel, by sympathy, all the sickening suspense with which the child’s parents must await the result of this dangerous operation.

“O Will,” she adjured her husband anxiously, when he had told her of the engagement, “you must be very careful.  Think of the child’s poor mother!  Think of our own dear child, and what it would mean to lose him!”