IN THE SHADOW
"It is called New England," replied Virginia. Her hazel eyes rested curiously upon the negro as he examined the scene before him with expressions of keen delight. "Do you find it as beautiful as Hayti?"
"Ah, Hayti!" cried Dessalines. "But that is different; Hayti is a rose eaten by insects; a garden despoiled and neglected! You know we are in utter confusion there."
"So I have read." Virginia dropped upon a swinging seat; Dessalines remained standing. She had many times noticed this mannerism, a preference for the erect rather than for a sitting posture. A negro does not like to sit; he will stand, squat, or lounge. Dessalines possessed in full this racial peculiarity.
From his great height he looked down at Virginia, his face thoughtful, troubled; with Dessalines the one entailed the other.
"It was this which brought me; I am on my way to Hayti. You already know of my ambition, Miss Moultrie; I believe that my time is ripe!"
Virginia was thrilled, this time less by the timbre of the great musical voice than by the words the ideas conveyed. She half-raised herself, eyes aglow, breath coming quickly. Dessalines, as he stood before her staring out to sea, his expression thoughtful, troubled, perplexed, seemed striving to search the infinite; primitive man, half-baffled, contemplating his first coördinated plan; yet he was imposing. To Virginia he seemed to typify the negro race; a looming, colossal figure standing on the threshold of humanity, at the door of the council chamber, puzzled, bewildered, awed, yet stubbornly demanding the right to speak in conclave.
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