“Doctor, I have painted it with my heart’s blood.  It is easier to outgrow the dishonor of crime than the disabilities of color.  You have created in this country an aristocracy of color wide enough to include the South with its treason and Utah with its abominations, but too narrow to include the best and bravest colored man who bared his breast to the bullets of the enemy during your fratricidal strife.  Is not the most arrant Rebel to-day more acceptable to you than the most faithful colored man?”

“No! no!” exclaimed Dr. Gresham, vehemently.  “You are wrong.  I belong to the Grand Army of the Republic.  We have no separate State Posts for the colored people, and, were such a thing proposed, the majority of our members, I believe, would be against it.  In Congress colored men have the same seats as white men, and the color line is slowly fading out in our public institutions.”

“But how is it in the Church?” asked Iola.

“The Church is naturally conservative.  It preserves old truths, even if it is somewhat slow in embracing new ideas.  It has its social as well as its spiritual side.  Society is woman’s realm.  The majority of church members are women, who are said to be the aristocratic element of our country.  I fear that one of the last strongholds of this racial prejudice will be found beneath the shadow of some of our churches.  I think, on account of this social question, that large bodies of Christian temperance women and other reformers, in trying to reach the colored people even for their own good, will be quicker to form separate associations than our National Grand Army, whose ranks are open to black and white, liberals and conservatives, saints and agnostics.  But, Iola, we have drifted far away from the question.  No one has a right to interfere with our marriage if we do not infringe on the rights of others.”

“Doctor,” she replied, gently, “I feel that our paths must diverge.  My life-work is planned.  I intend spending my future among the colored people of the South.”

“My dear friend,” he replied, anxiously, “I am afraid that you are destined to sad disappointment.  When the novelty wears off you will be disillusioned, and, I fear, when the time comes that you can no longer serve them they will forget your services and remember only your failings.”

“But, Doctor, they need me; and I am sure when I taught among them they were very grateful for my services.”

“I think,” he replied, “these people are more thankful than grateful.”

“I do not think so; and if I did it would not hinder me from doing all in my power to help them.  I do not expect all the finest traits of character to spring from the hot-beds of slavery and caste.  What matters it if they do forget the singer, so they don’t forget the song?  No, Doctor, I don’t think that I could best serve my race by forsaking them and marrying you.”

“Iola,” he exclaimed, passionately, “if you love your race, as you call it, work for it, live for it, suffer for it, and, if need be, die for it; but don’t marry for it.  Your education has unfitted you for social life among them.”