I changed the key by bringing up her interests.  “Reverdy is your guardian and I am putting your property in his hands.  Don’t you need money?  Why haven’t you sent for money?” “Because,” Zoe answered, “I meant to go out of your life, and stay out of your life.  Now that you have found me it does not matter.  All I could do would be to run off again.  But why?  This is a wonderful place.  I love the excitement, the stir here.  And I am in no danger here from being kidnapped.  I don’t want to go into the country again.  I will be all right, James, be sure.  But if you want to send me some money I will be glad.  Only don’t come for me; don’t have me known in your life again.  I am out of it now.  You can’t do for me what you could if I was white.  Why try?  Facts are just what they are.  I will be all right here.  I am learning to sing.  Mr. Fortescue says that I have a voice.  That’s his name.  He is a good man, you can be sure.”  “He loves you?” I interrupted.  Zoe did not answer.  “He wants to marry you?” I said, half interrogatively.  “I don’t believe I am made for marriage,” said Zoe.  “Where do you work?” I asked.

Zoe was silent for some seconds, as if thinking.  I repeated the question.  “Don’t ask me that, Mr. James, don’t,” she said.  “I know where you are, I know where to find you.  And if you need me I will come to you if I can; but don’t ask me where I am.”  “How can I send you money?” “Send it to the post office.  Send it to Laurette Toombs.  That’s my name here.  But don’t try to find me again.  I just pray God all the time that I may never be of any trouble to you; and I am afraid all the time I may.”  “Why?” I asked quickly.  “Oh, I don’t know; just because things are what they are.  I have already made you a world of trouble.  And you have been just as good to me as a brother could be.  I just pray God not to make you any more trouble.  I must go.”  Her voice had grown full of pathos.  “Where?” I asked.  “Don’t follow me, Mr. James, just let me go.  I am a grown woman.  I must lead my own life.  Just be good to me as you have been—­don’t you understand?  I grieve.  So be good to me, let me manage myself and manage our meetings, whatever they are.  Sit here now while I steal away.  Promise me.”

Zoe got up, stretched her hands to me, then hurried through the darkness to the town.  I followed her with my eyes until she was lost to view.  The voice of Douglas by a sudden swell of the air was borne to me.  One articulate word fell upon my ears.  It was “slavery.”  His voice lapsed into the silence of the receding breeze.  I sat alone for a few minutes.  Then I arose, and went to the place where Douglas was speaking.

He was just finishing.  In a burst of impetuous and impassioned eloquence he was pointing to the future glory of the United States, when Great Britain would own no foot of soil from the North Pole to the Gulf.  The audience applauded tumultuously.  Douglas stepped from the rude platform into the arms of bewitched admirers.  He freed himself and came to me.  He brought with him a Mr. DeWitt Williams who had prevailed upon Douglas to accept his hospitality for the night.  As Douglas’ traveling companion, I was invited to share in the entertainment.