The Strand Magazine, Vol. 05, Issue 26, February 1893: An Illustrated MonthlyVarious
General
The Strand Magazine, Vol. 05, Issue 26, February 1893: An Illustrated Monthly
Various
English literature -- Periodicals; Short stories, English -- Periodicals
It was a cosy, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning upon
the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over a
desk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl. Her face was turned
away as we entered, but we could see that she was dressed in a red
frock, and that she had long white gloves on. As she whisked round to us
I gave a cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards
us was of the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely
devoid of any expression. An instant later the mystery was explained.
Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear, a mask
peeled off from her countenance, and there was a little coal-black
negress with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at our amazed
faces. I burst out laughing out of sympathy with her merriment, but
Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching at his throat.
[Illustration: "THERE WAS A LITTLE COAL-BLACK NEGRESS."]
"My God!" he cried, "what can be the meaning of this?"
"I will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady, sweeping into the
room with a proud, set face. "You have forced me against my own judgment
to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. My husband died
at Atlanta. My child survived."
"Your child!"
She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. "You have never seen this
open."
"I understood that it did not open."
She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a portrait
within of a man, strikingly handsome and intelligent, but bearing
unmistakable signs upon his features of his African descent.
"That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the lady, "and a nobler man
never walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in order to wed
him; but never once while he lived did I for one instant regret it. It
was our misfortune that our only child took after his people rather than
mine. It is often so in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than
ever her father was. But, dark or fair, she is my own dear little
girlie, and her mother's pet." The little creature ran across at the
words and nestled up against the lady's dress.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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