They were standing upon the hurricane deck of the steamer Indian Queen, which was puffing and blowing its rapid course down the Ohio river. She was leaning on the arm of her husband; their heads were bare, the better to enjoy the freshness of the morning air; her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks glowing with animation, and her sunny ringlets, blown back, floated on the breeze. From their elevated site they commanded a view of both shores of the river, and turned their eyes alternately from the north to the south side. “Does my dear Rosalie perceive any very remarkable difference in the aspect of these opposite shores?” asked Mark, bending his serious gaze upon her. “Yes! I notice that one shore is thickly studded with thriving villages and flourishing fields, while the other is a comparative wilderness, with here and there a plantation house, and at long intervals a stunted town. What can be the reason of this?” “Have you not already surmised the reason?” The thoughtful eyes of Rosalie roved slowly over the scene, and then raised and fixed their earnest gaze upon her husband’s face, and she said— “It is so. There is only one set of persons in the civilized world who are more unhappy than the negroes.” “And they are”—— “Their masters.” “Yes, Rosalie; and it is from among their number that the first great successful reformer of the great evil must arise!” “Why do you think so, Mark?” “From _fitness_: we are unwilling to be taught our duty by an antagonist who reasons in partial ignorance of the facts, judges harshly and unjustly, and speaks not the truth in love so often as falsehood in hatred; and from _analogy_: all great successful reformers that the world has ever known, have arisen—not from the outside, but from the very midst of the evil to be reformed. Martin Luther sprang, not from among the Illuminati, but from the bosom of the Roman Catholic Church and priesthood. Nay, Christ himself came not in clouds of glory, clothed with the majesty of Godhead from Heaven—he arose from the midst of the people whom he came to redeem. So, Rosalie, the apostle of liberty must arise in the South.” She had listened to his words with loving and reverent attention, and now she fixed her gaze upon his eyes, and said, with penetrating earnestness— “Mark Sutherland—‘_Thou art the man!_’” His very soul thrilled to her inspiring words and glance. He walked hastily from her side in agitation, but, soon returning, said— “Nay, Rosalie, nay; this mission is not for me. I hear no voice from heaven calling me to the work!” “_Have you listened?_ The voice of God speaks not often in thunder from Heaven. It is a ‘still, small voice,’ breathed from the depths of your spirit. ‘The word of God is within you.’” He pressed his hand to his brow, throwing back the dark hair that fell in waves around it. He was still agitated, excited. “You trouble my soul even as the descending angel troubled the pool of Bethesda, Rosalie!” he said.