Speeches & Writings File
" Not Always What They Seem"

Seldom What They Seem.

It was quite evident that something was disturbing Guy Foster's mind.
It was equally evident that he was trying to conceal his trouble from his
wife.  If he sighed aloud unwittingly and he saw by the expression on [his] Helen's
face that she had heard him, he looked grieved and ashamed of himself, as
though he had been detected in doing something wrong.  Helen racked her brain
trying to discover the cause of her husband's gloom, but she failed utterly
to guess it.  Surely, she thought, he is not worried by financial troubles
of any kind.  Guy Foster was one of the most popular, [hospicious?] if not the most popular
[ysicians] doctor in the city, and he was making money hand over fist.  He had settled
in Horton soon after he had graduated from one of the largest and finest 
medical schools in the West, had taken the State Board examination and had
sailed [right] into a lucrative practice right away.
    There was every reason in the world, why he should have achieved such a [b] 
brilliant success, for he had [everything in his favor] much to recommend him as a physician and a great
deal in his favor as a man.  He was handsome, tall, well-proportioned and possessed
personal magnetism which would have spelled success in any profession or
occupation he chose.  With his olive complexion, his darkpbrown eyes, his
jetp-black hair he looked like a genuine Spanish Hidalgo son of Spain.

[Everybody was interested in]  Guy Foster's courtship had created a great deal of interest in Horton aroused much comment for it was a a
because it was considered a genuine case case of love at first sight. He had no sooner laid eyes on [Helen] Maria Bates and
 [whatever [that was] or if ever that maybe-] she had no sooner beheld him than the fate of each was sealed.  Helen had
come straight from an Eastern university as soon as she had graduated and
began to teach in the Horton High School.  In type she was Guy Fostoer's
direct and distinct oppostie, for she was as fair as a lily, had dark-blue
eyes and a wealth of auburn hair.
That " all the world loves a lover was forcibly illustrated in the case of 
Guy Foster and Helen Bates.  There was something fatherly or motherly, brotherly
or sisterly in the interest[ed] manifested by the townspeople in this 
much-discussed love affair.  Neither one lived with his family. Both were
away from home.  There was a  genuine satisfaction, therefore, on the part of
their friends, when they received the announcement of the wedding of this

[*2*] 
deal young couple, as they were called by everybody in town
The first [two] 4 years of her marriage Mrs. Foster's life was a beautiful
dream crystallized into a tangible, concrete reality, The doctor had practically
finished paying for a comfortable home, artistically furnished, owned
an automobile and had prospered beyond the expectations of his fondest hopes.
But, now lately, a change had come over the young physician.  Try [as Helen]
might, she could not argue, coax or deceive herself into believing the
contrary.  Once she [had gone] went into his [private] office, when she knew all of the 
patients had gone, for a long time.  She had had waited [a long time for him to appear,] in the reception room so as to surprise him. so thi
[they might] then motor home [together] with him [as was their custom.] When she went into his private office, She found him with
his face buried in his hands, so absorbed in his gloomy meditations that he did not
hear her, when she opened and closed the door.  She placed her hand on his sho  
shoulder to arouse him, and when he looked up at her, he was the picture of 
abject despair.  When she urged him to tell her what was troubling him, he implored 
her not to mke him more wretched then he was by [draw] trying, to drag from
him the cause of his gloom.
     At first, when she had ventured to inquire concerning his melancholy,
he tried to make her believe that it was only her imagination which lead her
to [believe] suspect that he had changed.  For a long time he insisted he was all right
But, after she had seen him so often, when he could not rally quickly at the 
sight of her and shake off the depression which had settled so heavily upon
him, he [did not deny] no longer tried to deny that he was unhappy. [he ceased to expect her to believe him.]  [could not pretend that he was all right--] [*begins could longer tried to deny that he was unhappy--*]
 Could Guy be tired of her, [she] Helen Foster asked herself, and was there another woman 
in the xase ? But she [?????????] put that out of her mind [immediately.]  She was ashamed 
to have such a disloyal thought [pass through her mind.] about her husband.  If ever a man were true 
to a woman, she assured herself, it was Guy Foster to herself. [In thinking of] Then she began to think about the conditions 
which might make her husband happier than he was.  She wished [they] she had a 
child in their home.  But that is precisely what Guy had insisted from the 
first that he did not want. "We'll be happy together, Helen, just you and I" 
he said.  It's a risk to have children- a terrible risk.  Who knows what they 
will either look like or act like? I used to believe in her environment, but I am per sa

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persuaded now, that the people who claim that heredity counts 75% in the formation
of character are right."Let's not have any children, dear."
They might go way back and take after some dissolute old ancestor
In casting about for a solution of the mysterious change in her husband
expressions and statements made either by him or some of his friends which
could not possibly have any bearing upon the case would occasionally flash through her
mind. She thought of a joke which the Presidnet of the Monday Club had
cracked at Guy Foster's expense. This was composed of the leading professional
and business men of Horton who lunched together every Monday.
And now said he we "Guy is no[t] ancestor worshipper," he said. "He certainly can not be said to
resemble [those] the Irish potatoe, because the best part of him is underground.
[Guy] He will never take you any further back into his dim and distant past than
his Freshman year." But everybody admired the young physician precisely
for his very modesty. Nobody doubted, to look at him, that he could talk
a great deal about the distinguished, wealthy family to which he belonged,
if he were built on those lines/. One of his acquaintances who was considered
an authority on such matters had shaken her head very impressively
more than once and declared [said] oracularly "Say what you please, but that Guy Foster
has good blood in his veins. There's no doubt about that. He looks the part
and acts it as well." But who in that Western town cared a rap about the
young physicians parents or his ancestors?In no part of the United States is
it easier for people without distinguished family connections to make good
than in the West. In that delectably democratic section of this country people are
accepted for what they are themselves and can actually do and not because of a family [from which] tree which was grown in their back yards.
"Tell me plainly, Guy," [Helen implored] urged [him] one night, have you ceased to
love me? I can not stand to see you so evidently wretched without knowing
the cause. [It's more than I can stand.] I have tried not to notice it, but
it has[d] gotten on my nerves now to such an extent that you must tell me what
is the matter with you or I simply can not exist.
"I beg of you Helen," he implored. Don't try to ascertain why I am so unhappy
It is something which you yourself can not help. I love you more to day, dear
than I ever loved you before. Believe me, I beg of you. Some day when I am stronger I may reveal



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reveal to you the reason why I seem to you to have changed, but I can not do 
so now. It would be unkind to you. In a way it would be species of cowardice 
on my part to drag you into the mire of misery just because I am depressed 
myself. Trust me that I am doing the best and wisest thing for both of us 
by keeping my secret to myself. "
Guy, have you [done anything criminal] committed any crime or have you done [or have] anything of which 
you are shamed? Helen could not desist from trying to discover the cause 
of her husband's unhappiness, try as hard as she could. Any[thing], certainty, no matter how horrible or disgraceful it was, would be better than the uncertainty which 
was driving her mad.
Believe me, Helen, he [replied] assured her, "I have done nothing[and I am not
reposnsible] committed no crime. If I have 
wronged anybody on earth, it is you, my beloved wife. If you are satisfied with me
But she [with me] threw her arms around him affectionately and would not let him say
another word. If you have wronged me in any way,[ I am the only victim of your wickedness, "She] I do not
know my own misery, [she] and I assure you I am the happiest victim on earth. She had drawn
his head on her shoulder and was covering his face with kisses.
That day Guy Foster extracted a promise from his wife that she would question
him no more, because he promised her definitely that if she insisted
upon it, he would tell her on the anniversary of their marriage the secret of his unhappiness provided
she were willing to take the consequences.
[Helen] Something was also weighing heavily on Helen's mind.
[Although] [Helen had not asked the question directly, she] She would
not even let it shape its unwelcome, unspeakable self into anything so definite
as thought. [She felt, however that she had missed a golden opportunity] when by not asking Guy directly if she had deliberately
declared that if she had wronged anybody
on the occasion Guy had extracted from her the                    it
had been herself, that she had not said, but suppose I had wronged  you in       
any way. She felt,however, that she had missed a golden opportunity when
she had not asked Guy directly whether      anything
discovered that she had deliberately withheld from him before their marriage
facts which he might justly feel she could have imparted to him before. Butthus had [?] what
would make no difference to [Guy], [the] broad-minded such a broad-minded man
[difference would it make to guy she kept asking herself, so as to]
as Guy. She assured herself. She had trouble enough without allowing that [old] ugly skeleton to grin
at her out of the old closet which had been locked years before and whose
key had been thrown into the depths of the sea.

And now said he in a boast we come to the lead
physician of Horton Guy Foster. Guy is uncertain
where he hails from. He is no ancestor worshipper
We all know

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One day not long after the promise Guy had made to confess what was troubling 
him on the anniversary of their marriage Helen was straightening up the basement. Turning on [the] an electric   
light she saw a little desk sitting in the far corner which Guy [he] had used [and] at college and started to dust 
it. As she moved it [but] [a little] from the wall, a paper fell out and she picked 
it up. Mechanically without realizing what she was doing she straightened out 
the sheet. In a bold, legible characters she [read] saw three words [My dear Son] which 
caused her to start; "My dear Son:" it began. Could this letter belong to 
Guy? He had told her the few times he had referred to his family at all that 
his parents had died, when he was small child. And yet why should Guy have 
a letter belonging to anybody else in his desk beginning My dear son, particularly when according 
to the date, it had been received only two months before? Perhaps it [was][di] might be
dishonorble to read this letter, she admitted to herself, but, if [there
were an] it contained any information concerning the man whom she loved better than
any one in the world, she would be justified in getting it in this or any
way she could. "It rejoiced my heart to know that you are succeeding so
brilliantly in your profession the letter began, It was a great pleasure to see you after 
such a  long separation and to catch a glimpse of your beautiful wife.
As you say, we would be much happier if we could live in the same town an
be ourselves. If you could come to see your mother [occasionally], it would make
her very happy. She loves you and is proud of you, you know that well enough. But that [would] coming here where you are so well known would be 
[be] running too great a risk. We can not remedy the terrible conditions under
which we live. There is no use ruining [in runing] your chances in your profession
and destroying the happiness of your home. Your wife loves you and
you love her. She would never forgive you, if she knew the truth. Since it
gives us both so much pleasure, I will steal in again to see you, as soon
as I can. You know Whatever you do, address your letters to Mr. Blank in Stockton, as you have [be]
been doing and do not send them directly here [in Blairville] to me. It takes several days [lag]
longer for them to reach me going through circuitous route, but it is the much
safer way. [He] Hurst is very prompt in forwarding them to me, always taking the
precaution to place them in another envelope as I am sure he has done with
this letter to you, so that [nobody can tell from which city they] they do not bear the postmark of this city.
Your mother thanks you for the remittance

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remittances which you have been so kindly sending [your mother] her.
There is no use wasting vain regrets on things which we can not help. You
have done no wrong. You have simply done what any man has a right to do-
reach the highest standard it is possible for him to attain. Under other
circumstances you could not occupy the honorable and responsible position in 
your city which you undoubtedly do to day. We have put our hand to the pl
plough, let us not turn back. Your affectionate father  God knows I wish I dared point to such an
upright, brilliant, distinguished man as you are as my son. Your affectionate father
It had been written three months ago.
Helen was paralyzed with surprise. The letter bore a date, but there
was nothing to indicate the city, town or State from which it has come for the envelope had been destroyed & the names of the towns not mentioned.
Guy's father then had actually [come] been to Horton to see his son. There was no doubt
about that. Why did he not come to see him in the open. Why did her husband 
not introduce his father to her? Why hda Guy told her that both his
parents were dead [alive], when they were both alive? These questions rushed 
thru Helen's mind like a torrent. [Something flashed through her mind
which caused her to redden and then grow pale as death,]
She could not, would not stand this suspense and uncertainty any longer. She would go
to Guy directly, show him the letter which she believe [what she called] Providence
intended her to find. and insist upon an explanation. She resolved [promised herself
that she would] also to make a clean breast of everything herself. Whatever Guys offense might be she admitted it
was certainly no worse than the wrong she had done him.  The last patient
had left Guy's office, when Helen entered that afternoon. She presented the
letter to her husband, simply saying as calmly as she could that she had
found it by accident and could not resist the temptation to read it, when
her eyes fell upon "My dear Son."
W"Well Helen, said Guy, the day of wrath can no longer be postponed. I am glad
you have found the letter, although I am sure that from now on you will hate, me
as you will feel justified in doing from your point of view. I love you as I love
my life, but I have deceived you nevertheless. Come to me, pulse of my heart and Let me hold you in [my] one last
ebmbrace. He folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, as though he
were trying to [protect] shield her from an awful cmonster which was about to snatch
his beloved from him forever. Their lips met in a long and lingering [ag]

The whole situation is uncanny [she] - Guy's gloom
is really affecting me - She paused a moment, as
tho deliberately - is it my conscience which is beginning to trouble me, or perhaps is it  
only a cowardly fear? She was speaking aloud her head had dropped forward [and she] clasped her hands in front of her with an attitude of uncertainty & despair.

The whole situation is uncanny, she said - Guy's gloom
is really affecting me - She paused a moment, as
tho she were debating something with herself - [?]
my conscience beginning to trouble me she asked - 
perhaps it is only cowardly fear any way
[[? [?] they had done is no worse than]

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agony of a kiss. "Do not keep me in suspense," whispered Helen, sobbing
"It does not matter to me Guy, what you have done. in the past. You are the
noblest man in the world now [and] the dearest man on earth [in the world]. What do I care
about your past?"
Guy arose and gently seated his wife in an arm chair near her desk. Look at me Helen"
he said, taking her face in his hands and raising it to his. "I am not 
a white man," [he acknowledged.] 
He withdrew his hands and stepped away from her. He spoke slowly & impressively [and]
arisen with out stret
 I have African blood in my veins he acknowledged. I did not -
But before he could finish the sentence, Helen had pulled him to her
looking at her as tho he was longing to read the [?] of her very soul
arms threw herself upon her husband. "Thank God, Thank God she exclaimed
For, I [too], am colored too. I too have African blood flowing thru my veins.
[I will not] I want you to do exactly as you 
please - Hear me if you will now that 
you know what a humble devotion I have
placed upon you and will always love
you no matter - 


Written by Mary Church Terrell,
1615 S St., N.W.
Washington, D.C.
Not Always What They Seem.
It was quite evident that something was disturbing Guy Foster's
mind. It was equally evident that he was trying to conceal his trouble
from his wife. If he sighed aloud unwittingly and he saw by the expression
on Marcia's face that she had heard him, he looked grieved and ashamed of
himself, as though he had been detected in doing something wrong. Marcia
racked her brain trying to discover the cause of her husband's gloom, but
she failed utterly to guess it.
Surely, she thought, he is not worried by financial troubles of
any kind. Guy Foster was one of the most popular physicians, if not the most
popular doctor in the city. He was making money hand over fist. He had settled
in Horton soon after he had graduated from one of the largest and finest
medical schools in the West, had taken the State Board examination and
had sailed into a lucrative practice right away.
There was ever reason in the world why he should have achieved such
brilliant success, for he had much to recommend him as a physician and a
great deal in his favor as a man. He was handsome, tall, well-proportioned
and possessed personal magnetism which would have spelled success in any
profession or occupation he chose. With his olive complexion, his dark-brown
eyes and his jet black hair he looked like a genuine son of Spain.
That "all the world loves a lover" was forcibly illustrated in the case
of Guy Foster and Marcia Bates. The young physician's courtship had created
a great deal of interest and aroused much comment, because it was considered
a case of love at first. For there be those who still believe in
that emotional manifestation even unto this day. Guy Foster had no sooner
laid eyes on Marcia Bates and she had no sooner beheld him than the fate of
each was sealed. That was as plan as the nose on one's face. A wayfaring
man, though a fool, could not have erred therein. Horton people did not
talk about them just to be gossiping, but there was something fatherly or
motherly, brotherly or sisterly in the interest manifested by the citizens

2
citizens of the place in this much-discussed love affair. 
Marcia had come straight from an Eastern University as soon as she
had graduated and began to teach in the Horton High School. In type she
was Guy Foster's direct and distinct opposite, for she was as fair as a lily,
had dark-blue eyes and a wealth of auburn hair.
Since each of the principals in this delightful romance was away from
home, there was genuine satisfaction on the part of their friends, when
they received the announcement of the wedding of this ideal young couple,
as they were called by everybody.
The first four years of her marriage Mrs. Foster's life was a beautiful
dream, crystallized into a tangible, concrete reality. The doctor had finished
paying for a comfortable home, artistically furnished, owned an automobile- 
the real thing, too- and had prospered beyond the expectations of
his fondest hopes.
But, lately, a change had come over the young physician. Try as hard
as Marcia might, she could not argue, coax or deceive herself into believing
the contrary. Once she went to his office, when she felt certain all
of his patients had gone, so that they might motor home together. For a
long time she waited in the reception room in vain. When she finally went in
to his private office, she found him with his face buried in his hands,
so absorbed in his gloomy meditations, that he did not hear her, when she
opened and closed the door. She placed her hand on his shoulder to arouse
him. He looked up at her and was the picture of abject despair. When she urged
him to tell her what was troubling him, he implored her not to make him
more wretched than he was by trying to drag from him the cause of his gloom.
At first, when she had ventured to inquire concerning his melancholy,
he tried to make her believe that it was only her imagination which lead her
to suspect that he had changed. For a long time he insisted that he was all
right- that nothing was the matter with him at all. But, after she had seen
him so often, when he could not rally quickly at the sight of her and shake
off the depression which had settled so heavily upon him, he no longer

3
tried to deny that he was unhappy.
Could Guy only be tired of her?  Marcia asked herself again and again.  Was
there another woman in the case?  But she invariably put such a solution out
of her mind.  She was ashamed to a such a disloyal thought about her husband.  
If ever a man were true to a woman, she assured herself, it was Guy
Foster to his wife.  Then she began to think of conditions which might make
her husband happier than he was.  She wished she had had a baby.  Perhaps Guy
was grieving about that.  But that was precisely what her husband had said
he did not want.
"We'll be happy together, Marcia, just you and I," he said. "It's a 
risk to have children-a terrible risk. Who knows what they will look like, 
or act like?  I used to believe wholly in environment, I thought heredity
counted for very little indeed.  But I have changed my mind.  I am persuaded
now that the people who claim heredity counts for 75% in the formation of 
character are right - dean right.  Let's not have any children, dear.
The poor little things might go way back and rake after some dissolute ancestor, 
in spite of everything we might do and break our hearts."
In casting about for a solution of the mysterious change in her husband 
expressions and statements made either by him or some of his friends
which could not possibly have any bearing upon the case would occasionally
flash through Marcia's mind.  Once she thought of a joke which the President
of the Monday Club had cracked at Guy Foster's expense.  This was composed
of the leading professional and business men who lunched together every
Monday.
"And now,"  said he, when he was toast-master at a banquet one night,
"we come to Dr. Guy Foster, one of the leading physicians of Horton.  He has
traveled so much, he's a little uncertain where he hails from.  We know he
was born somewhere in the East.  But he's different from some fellow who migrate 
from that part of our moral vineyard out here.  He isn't always talking 
about his distinguished family in the East - how much they know and how 
much they are worth.  Our friend is no ancester worshipper - not on your life.

4
A miracle of modesty is our Guy. He believes in doing things himself. He certainly
does not resemble the irish potatoe, because the best part of him
is underground. Stand up now, and speak for yourself, Guy.
She recalled too that one of his friends had said in a joke, "Guy will
never take you any further back into his dim and distant past than his
Freshman year."
But everybody admired the young physician precisely for his modesty.
Nobody doubted that he could talk a great deal about his distinguished,
wealthy family, if he were built on those lines. He looked the part.
One of his acquaintances who was considered an authority on such matters
had shaken her head very impressively and declared oracularly, "Say what
you please, but that Guy Foster has good blood in his veins. There's no
doubt about that." And then she would elaborate on that very much as one
does when he talks about the "points" of a highly-bred dog.
But who in that Western town cared a fig about the young physician's
parents or his ancestors? In no part of the United States is it easier
for people without distinguished family connections to make good than in the
West. In that delectably democratic neck of the woods, people are accepted
for what they are themselves and can actually do, rather than because of
any particular species of family tree which may have grown in their back
yard. Therefore, The Great and Glorious West! Long may she wave!
"Tell me plainly Guy," Marcia urged one night, "have you ceased to love
me? I simply can not stand to see you so evidently wretched without knowing
the cause. I have tried to notice it, but it's no use. It has gotten on
my nerves. You must tell me what's the matter with you, or I shall die."
"I beg of you, Marcia," he implored," dont try to ascertain why I'm so
wretched. It is something which you can not help. Neither can I. Believe
me, when I tell you that I love you more to day, dear, that I have ever loved
you before. Some day, when I am stronger than I am just now, if you insist
upon it, I willl reveal to you the reason why I seem to you to have
changed, but I have not the courage to do so now. It would be unkind to

5
you.  In a way it would be a species of cowardice on my part to drag you into
the mire of misery just because I am depressed myself.  Trust me that I am
doing the best and wisest thing for both of us by keeping the secret to myself."
"Have you committed any crime, Guy, " she pleaded, "or have you 
done anything of which you are ashamed?"
Marcia simply could not desist trying to discover the cause of her husband's 
unhappiness, no matter how hard she tried.  Any certainty, she told
herself, no matter how horrible or disgraceful is might be, would be better
than the awful uncertainty which was driving her mad.
"Believe me, Marcia," he assured her, "I have committed no crime.  If
I have wronged any human being on earth, it is yourself, my beloved wife.
If you are satisfied with me - "
But she threw her arms around him affectionately, placed her had on 
his lips and would not let him say another word. 
"If you have wronged me in any way, I do not know my own mister," she
laughed!  "I am the happiest victim on earth."
She had drawn his head on her shoulder and was covering his face
with kisses.
 The following week, when Marcia renewed the conversation about the
change which had come over her husband, he promised her definitely that
if she insisted upon it, he would tell her the cause of his unhappiness on
the approaching anniversary of their marriage, if she was willing to take 
the consequences. 
In spite of her effort to throw it off, something began to weigh a 
bit heavily on Marcia's mind.  She would not let it shape its unwelcome, unspeakable 
self into anything so definite as a thought.  She felt that she
had missed a golden opportunity, however, by not asking Guy, when she was
begging his to tell her the sense of his unhappiness.  If he would cease to
love her, if he ever  discovered that she had deliberately withheld anything 
about herself before their marriage which he might feel she should


6
have told. But considering the herculean efforts she had exerted, she assured
herself, and the infinite pains she had taken to bury that hideous
skeleton deep, deep, she was sure it would never shake its old dry bones
at Guy.
One day, not long after Guy had promised to confess what was troubling
him on the anniversary of their marriage, Marcia was straightening up the
basement. Turning on the electric light she saw sitting in the far corner a 
little desk which Guy had used in college and went over to dust it.
As she moved the desk from the wall, a paper fell out and she picked it up.
Mechanically, without realising what she was doing, she straightened out
the sheet. In bold, legible characters she was three words which shocked
her. "My dear son." it began.
Could this letter belong to Guy? He had told her on the few occasions
he had referred to his family that his parents were dead - that they had 
died, when he was a small child. And yet, why should Guy have a letter belonging
to anybody else beginning "My dear Son", particularly, when according
to the date, it had been received only two months before? Perhaps it might
be dishonorable to read this letter, she admitted to herself, but if it contained
any information concerning the man whom she loved better than any
one in the world, she would be justified in getting it in this or in any
other way she could. If ever there were a case proving that the end justifies
the means, she soliloquized, this is certainly that one.
"It rejoices my heart to know that you are succeeding as brilliantly
in your profession", the letter began. "It was a great pleasure to see you
after such a long separation and to catch a glimpse of your beautiful wife.
As you say, we would all be much happier, if we could lie in the same
town and be ourselves. Your mother is continually lamenting that you can
not come to see her every three or four years, at least. That would satisfy
her, she says. She loves you and is proud of you, you know. But I tell her
that coming here would be running too great a risk. Some of our old friends
might recognize you and try to find out where you live. We can not remedy

7
the terrible conditions under which we live. There is no use ruining your
chances in your profession and destroying the happiness of your home. The
positions of honor and trust which you now occupy in Horton would be withheld
from you , if the people knew.
When I was young, I might have turned by back upon it all, as you have done.
I thought about cutting entirely loose once, but for many reasons which you
can guess, no doubt, I changed my mind. And in spite of all the obstacles
against which I have been obliged to contend, because I stuck it out, I believe
I am happier to day, because I pursued that course. However, I am very
glad that you have defied the baleful customs, traditions and laws which
would have handicapped, hindered and humiliated you in every way. We are not
all built alike. You are much happier to day than you would have been, if
you had followed my example in this respect. Your wife loves you and you
love her. She would never forgive you, if she knew the truth. Since it affords
us so much pleasure, I will steal in again to see you, as soon as I
can.
Be sure to address your letters to Mr. B-----in S-----, as you have
been doing and do not send them directly to me here. Mr. B's son, who has
followed in the footsteps of his father, is a very rich man. It takes several
days longer for the letter to reach me going that circuitous route, but
it is much the safer way. Mr. B--is absolutely trustworthy and is very
prompt in forwarding the letter to me, always taking the precaution to
place it in another envelop, as I am sure he has done with this letter I am
sending you, so that it will not bear the postmark of the city from which
it comes. Your mother thanks you for the remittances which you have been so
kindly sending her. Don't waste any vain regrets on things which we can not
help. You have done nothing wrong. You have simply done what any man has a
right to do- reach the highest standard it is possible for him to attain.
Under other circumstances you could not occupy the honorable and responsible
positions in your city which you do to day, as I have already said. You have
put your hand to the plough. Do not turn back. God knows I wish I dared tell

8
the world that such an upright, brilliant, distinguished man as you are, is
my son."
Your affection father.
Marcia was paralyzed with surprise. "Can it be true?" she exulted. How she
wished she could investigate the matter herself! But that was impossible. The
letter bore a date, but there was nothing to indicate the city, town or
state from which it had come, because the envelope had been destroyed.
A thousand questions, surmises and doubts rushed through Marcia's mind
like a torrent. She was almost happy, for she would not be obliged to endure
the awful suspense any longer. She would go directly to Guy, show him
the letter which she believed Providence intended her to find and insist
upon an explanation. Incidentally she would then make a clean breast of
everything herself.
The last patient had left Guy's office, when Marcia entered that afternoon.
She presented the letter to her husband, simply saying as calmly as
she could that she had found it by accident and could not resist the temptation
to read it, when her eyes fell upon "My dear Son".
"Well, Marcia," said Guy without the slightest hesitation, "it has
come at last. The day of wrath can no longer be postponed." He arose and
placed his hands on his wife's shoulders, looking straight into her eyes.
"I am glad you have found the letter, although I am sure from now on you
will hate me, and will feel justified in doing so from your point of view.
First, let me tell you that I love you as I love my life." "He choked with
emotion and could not speak. He folded her in his arms and pressed her to
him as though he were trying to shield her from some monster which was about
to snatch his beloved from him forever.
"Do not keep me in suspense any longer," whispered Marcia, pleading.
"It does not matter to me what you have done in the past. You are the noblest
dearest man in the world."
Gently he drew away from his wife and looked at her, as though he were trying
to read her very soul.

9
"I have practiced a terrible deception upon you, Marcia," he said deliberately. 
"I am not a white man, as you think I am. I have African blood in 
my veins. I want you to do exactly as you please, and"
But before he could finish the sentence. Marcai rushed to him, threw her
arms around his neck and exclaimed joyously. "Oh, thank God, thank God,
Guy, I, too, am colored. My great grandmother was a slave." 
Mary Church Terrell
1615 S. St. N.W.
Washington, D.C.

Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.