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Table of Contents
Android Application Programming with OpenCV
Credits
About the Author
About the Reviewers
www.PacktPub.com
Support files, eBooks, discount offers and more
Why Subscribe?
Free Access for Packt account holders
Preface
What this book covers
What you need for this book
Who this book is for
Conventions
Reader feedback
Customer support
Downloading the example code
Errata
Piracy
Questions
1. Setting Up OpenCV
System requirements
Setting up a development environment
Getting a ready-made development environment – Tegra Android
Development Pack (TAPD)
Assembling a development environment piece-by-piece
Getting the prebuilt OpenCV4Android
Building OpenCV4Android from source
Building the OpenCV samples with Eclipse
Finding documentation and help
Summary
2. Working with Camera Frames
Designing our app – Second Sight
Creating the Eclipse project
 Enabling camera and disk access in the manifest
Creating menu and string resources
Previewing and saving photos in CameraActivity
Deleting, editing, and sharing photos in LabActivity
Summary
3. Applying Image Effects
Adding files to the project
Defining the Filter interface
Mixing color channels
Making subtle color shifts with curves
Processing a neighborhood of pixels with convolution filters
Adding the filters to CameraActivity
Summary
4. Recognizing and Tracking Images
Adding files to the project
Understanding image tracking
Writing an image tracking filter
Adding the tracker filters to CameraActivity
Summary
5. Combining Image Tracking with 3D Rendering
Adding files to the project
Defining the ARFilter interface
Building projection matrices in CameraProjectionAdapter
Modifying ImageDetectionFilter for 3D tracking
Rendering the cube in ARCubeRenderer
Adding 3D tracking and rendering to CameraActivity
Learning more about 3D graphics on Android
Summary
Index
Android Application
Programming with OpenCV
Android Application
Programming with OpenCV
Copyright © 2013 Packt Publishing All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the
publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical
articles or reviews.

Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the
accuracy of the information presented. However, the information
contained in this book is sold without warranty, either express or implied.
Neither the author, nor Packt Publishing, and its dealers and distributors
will be held liable for any damages caused or alleged to be caused
directly or indirectly by this book.

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the accuracy of this information.

First published: September 2013

Production Reference: 1180913

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

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ISBN 978-1-84969-520-6

www.packtpub.com
Cover Image by Ankita Jha (<[email protected]>)
Credits
Author

Joseph Howse

Reviewers

Karan Kedar Balkar

Rohit Bhat

Viral Parekh

Acquisition Editors

Nikhil Karkal

Kartikey Pandey

Commissioning Editor

Harsha Bharwani

Technical Editors

Jinesh Kampani

Manal Pednekar

Project Coordinator

Amigya Khurana

Proofreader

Amy Guest

Indexer
Rekha Nair

Graphics

Ronak Dhruv

Production Coordinator

Conidon Miranda

Cover Work

Conidon Miranda
About the Author
Joseph Howse might be at home right now, sitting on a sofa and writing
a book, or he might have dashed away with a suitcase full of books,
cameras, and computers. He is equipped to "see the world" or at least to
do his work in computer vision.

He is a software developer at Ad-Dispatch (Canada), where he makes

augmented reality games for iOS and Android. Thanks to computer
vision, the games can make use of real-world props such as a child's
drawings, toys, or blanket-forts.

He also provides training and consulting services. He is currently

consulting at Market Beat (El Salvador) on an embedded systems project
that uses OpenCV for face recognition.

He holds three masters degrees in Computer Science, International

Development Studies, and Business Administration (Dalhousie
University, Canada). His research has been published by ISMAR
(International Symposium on Mixed and Augmented Realities), and
he would love to meet you there if you go.

Android Application Programming with OpenCV is Joe's second book

with Packt. His first book, OpenCV Computer Vision with Python,
includes an introduction to face tracking and depth cameras (for example,
Kinect) on Windows, Mac, and Linux.

Joe likes cats, kittens, oceans, and seas. Felines and saline water
sustain him. He lives with his multi-species family in Halifax, on Canada's
Atlantic coast.

I am able to write—and to enjoy writing—because I am constantly

encouraged by the memory of Sam and by the companionship of
Mom, Dad, and the cats. They are my fundamentals.

I am indebted to my editors and reviewers for guiding this book to

completion. Their professionalism, courtesy, good judgment, and
completion. Their professionalism, courtesy, good judgment, and
passion for books are much appreciated.
About the Reviewers
Karan Kedar Balkar has been working as an independent Android
application developer since the past four years. Born and brought up in
Mumbai, he holds a bachelor degree in Computer Engineering. He has
written over 50 programming tutorials on his personal blog
(http://karanbalkar.com), covering popular technologies and frameworks.

At present, he is working as a software engineer. He has been trained on

various technologies including Java, Oracle, and .NET. Apart from being
passionate about technology, he loves to write poems and travel to
different places. He likes listening to music and enjoys playing the guitar.

Firstly, I would like to thank my parents for their constant support and
encouragement. I would also like to thank my friends Srivatsan Iyer,
Ajit Pillai, and Prasaanth Neelakandan for always inspiring and
motivating me.

I would like to express my deepest gratitude to Packt Publishing for

giving me a chance to be a part of the reviewing process.

Rohit Bhat is a Computer Science graduate from BITS Pilani, India,

currently working as a Software Specialist in a leading Big Data Analytics
firm. He has done projects in a variety of fields of technology
encompassing Data Mining, Android Development, Open CV, Swarm
Intelligence, Workflow Automation, and Video Conferencing platform. He
loves to keep himself abreast of the latest technology and can always be
found ready for a discussion on any topic under the sun. He is also
interested in reading, startup, economics, and current affairs. He likes to
write and is a freelance blogger in his spare time.

He is currently writing a book for Packt on Bonita Open Solution, a

technology which he has used extensively for Workflow Automation and
Business Process Modeling.
Viral Parekh is a young graduate of Computer Science. He is a skilled
mobile application developer. He has a grip on the various open source
libraries such as OpenCV, OpenNI (Open Natural Interaction), FFmpeg,
and video4linux. He is keen to work in the field of Human computer
Interaction and Augmented reality.
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Preface
This book will show you how to use OpenCV's Java bindings in an
Android app that displays a camera feed, saves and shares photos,
manipulates colors and edges, and tracks real-world objects in 2D or 3D.
Integration with OpenGL is also introduced so that you can start building
augmented reality (AR) apps that superimpose virtual 3D scenes on
tracked objects in the camera feed.

OpenCV is an open-source, cross-platform library that provides building

blocks for computer vision experiments and applications. It offers high-
level interfaces for capturing, processing, and presenting image data. For
example, it abstracts away details about camera hardware and array
allocation. OpenCV is widely used in both academia and industry.

Android is a mobile operating system that is mostly open source. For

Java developers, it offers a high-level application framework called
Android SDK. Android apps are modular insofar as they have standard,
high-level interfaces for launching each other and sharing data. Mobility,
a high level of abstraction, and data sharing are great starting points for a
photo sharing app, similar to the one we will build.

Although OpenCV and Android provide a lot of high-level abstractions

(and a lot of open source code for curious users to browse), they are not
necessarily easy for newcomers. Setting up an appropriate development
environment and translating the libraries' broad functionality into app
features are both daunting tasks. This concise book helps by placing an
emphasis on clean setup, clean application design, and a simple
understanding of each function's purpose.

The need for a book on this subject is particularly great because the
OpenCV's Java and Android bindings are quite new and their
documentation is not yet mature. Little has been written about the steps
for integrating OpenCV with an Android's standard camera, media, and
graphics APIs. Surely integration is a major part of an app developer's
work, so it is a major focus of this book.

By the end of our journey together, you will have a taste of the breadth of
By the end of our journey together, you will have a taste of the breadth of
application features that are made possible by integrating OpenCV with
other Android libraries. You will have your own small library of reusable
classes that you can extend or modify for your future computer vision
projects. You will have a development environment and the knowledge to
use it, and you will be able to make more apps!
What this book covers
Chapter 1, Setting Up OpenCV, covers the steps to setting up OpenCV
and an Android development environment, including Eclipse and Android
SDK.

Chapter 2, Working with Camera Frames, shows how to integrate

OpenCV into an Android app that can preview, capture, save, and share
photos.

Chapter 3, Applying Image Effects, explores the OpenCV's functionality

for manipulating color channels and neighborhoods of pixels. We expand
our app to include channel-mixing filters, "curve" filters, and a filter that
darkens edges.

Chapter 4, Recognizing and Tracking Images, demonstrates the steps to

recognizing and tracking a known target (such as a painting) when it
appears in a video feed. We expand our app so that it draws an outline
around any tracked target.

Chapter 5, Combining Image Tracking with 3D Rendering, improves upon

our previous tracking technique by determining the target's position and
rotation in real 3D space. We expand our app so that it sets up an
OpenGL 3D scene with the same perspective as the Android device's
real camera. Then, we draw a 3D cube atop any tracked target.
What you need for this book
This book provides setup instructions for OpenCV and an Android
development environment, including Eclipse and Android SDK. The
software is cross platform and the instructions cover Windows, Mac, and
Linux. Other Unix-like environments may work, too, if you are willing to do
your own tailoring of the setup steps.

You need a mobile device running Android 2.2 (Froyo) or greater and it
must have a camera. Preferably, it should have two cameras, front and
rear. Also, it should preferably come with the Google Play Store app
because OpenCV uses Google Play Store to manage installation and
upgrades of shared libraries.
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
Everything that I read with Harry, or that I talk over with him, has
new meaning for me, or a new force.
Why are we so careful to avoid pain? If it was a necessary part of
the highest mortal experience, how can we ask that it may be left
out from ours? And yet, on every new occasion, we strive to put
from us the offered cross. Even while we say, "Thy will be done!" an
inward hope entreats that will to be merciful. Such remonstrances
with myself rose in me as I read. They did not prevent me from
feeling a thrill of dread as this warning passed over my lips:—"Who
shall say how soon God may draw us from our easy speculations and
theories of suffering, to the practical experience of it? Who can tell
how soon we may be called to the fiery trial?" I turned involuntarily
to Harry. He, too, had heard a summons in these words. I read in his
eyes the answer that came from his steady breast,—"My Father, I
am here!" I felt my spirit lifted with the closing words,—"If we suffer
with him, we shall also reign with him"; but there was no change in
Harry's clear, prepared look. I have never known a faith so implicit as
his. He does not ask after threats or promises; he only listens for
commands.
When the services were over, Hans came forward to say good-bye to
the Doctor and Harry. He took a hand of each, and stood looking
from one to the other.
"We cannot spare you, Harry Dudley. We shall miss you, Doctor.
Harry, when you are ready to set up your farm, come and take a
look round you here again. We are good people, and love you. There
will be land near in the market before long. Sooner should you have
it than old Rasey. Think of it; we can talk things over, evenings."
"You shall have your turn," he said to his boys, who were waiting,
one on either side of him. "I am an old man, and leave-taking comes
hard. Youth has many chances more."
He gave his benediction, repeated a little rhyming German couplet,—
a charm, perhaps, for a good journey,—and then turned away
sturdily, went slowly out of the door and down the steps, leaving
Karl and Fritz to say their words of farewell. Karl spoke for both.
What Fritz had in his heart to say he could not utter, for the tears
would have come with it.
At a quarter before twelve Harry brought down the russet knapsack,
—brought down the little flower-press,—brought down the long
umbrella.
He transferred from the over-full knapsack to his own some
packages of flowers. The flower-press would not enter either
knapsack. The Doctor had it strapped on outside his. I watched
these little arrangements, glad of the time they took. Harry helped
the Doctor on with his pack. I would have done the same for Harry,
but he was too quick for me. I adjusted the strap from which the
green tin case hung, that I might do something for him.
Doctor Borrow took a serious leave of my mother,—for this, at least,
was a final one. But Harry would not have it so. The tears were
gathering in her eyes. "You will see us again," he said, confidently.
The Doctor shook his head. "You have made us too happy here for
us not to wish that it might be so."
But my mother accepted Harry's assurance.
They looked round for Tabitha. She appeared from my mother's
room, the door of which had been a little open. Both thanked her
cordially for her kind cares. She gave them her good wishes,
affectionately and solemnly, and disappeared again.
"I shall not bid you good-bye," said the Doctor, yet taking my hand.
"Only till the nineteenth," said Harry, clasping it as soon as the
Doctor relinquished it. "Till the eighteenth," I mean; "till the
eighteenth," he repeated, urgently.
"Till the eighteenth," I answered.
The Doctor mounted the blue spectacles. This was the last act of
preparation. The minute-hand was close upon the appointed
moment.
At the first stroke of twelve, they were on their way. I followed,
slowly, as if the reluctance of my steps could hold back theirs. The
gate closed behind them. The Doctor took at once his travelling gait
and trudged straight on; but Harry turned and gave a glance to the
house, to the barn, to the little patch of flowers,—to all the objects
with which the week had made him familiar. Then his look fell upon
me, who was waiting for it. He searched my face intently for an
instant, and then, with a smile which made light of all but happy
presentiments, waved me adieu, and hastened on to overtake the
Doctor.
I was glad it was not a working-day,—glad that I could go in and sit
down by my mother, to talk over with her, or, silent, to think over
with her, the scenes which had animated our little room, and which
were still to animate it. Harry's parting look stayed with me. I felt all
my gain, and had no more sense of loss. Can we ever really lose
what we have ever really possessed?
Evening.
I have been over to Blanty's. I should have gone yesterday, but it
rained heavily from early morning until after dark. Such days I
consider yours. I had been anxious about Blanty since Sunday, and
not altogether without reason. He has had a threatening of fever. I
hope it will prove a false alarm. I found him sitting at his door,
already better,—but still a good deal cast down, for he was never ill
in his life before. He had been wishing for me, and would have sent
to me, if I had not gone. He could hardly let me come away, but
pressed me to stay one hour longer, one half hour, one quarter. But I
had some things to attend to at home, and, as he did not really
need me, I bade him good-bye resolutely, promising to go to him
again next Monday. I cannot well go sooner.
If I had stayed, I should have missed a visit from Frederic Harvey.
When I came within sight of our gate, on the way back, a horseman
was waiting at it, looking up the road, as if watching for me. He
darted forward, on my appearance,—stopped short, when close
beside me,—dismounted, and greeted me with a warmth which I
blamed myself for finding it hard to return. He did not blame me,
apparently. Perhaps he ascribes the want he may feel in my manner
to New-England reserve; or perhaps he feels no want. He is so
assured of the value of his regard, that he takes full reciprocity for
granted. The docile horse, at a sign, turned and walked along beside
us to the gate, followed us along the path to the house, and took his
quiet stand before the door when we went in.
Frederic Harvey, having paid his respects to my mother, seated
himself in the great arm-chair, which now seems to be always
claiming the Doctor, and which this new, slender occupant filled very
inadequately.
"I stayed in New York three weeks too long," he exclaimed, after
looking about him a little—for traces of Harry, it seemed. "Time goes
so fast there! But I thought, from one of my sister's letters, that
Dudley was to go back to World's End after he left you. Is he
changed? Oh, but you cannot tell. You never knew him till now. I
need not have asked, at any rate. He is not one to change. While I
knew him, he was only more himself with every year."
"It is two years since you met, is it not?"
"Yes; but what are two years to men who were children together?
We shall take things up just where we laid them down. Ours is the
older friendship. I shall always have the advantage of you there. But
you and he must have got along very well together. Your notions
agree with his better than mine do. It does not matter. Friendship
goes by fate, I believe. He may hold what opinions he likes, for me;
and so may you."
"I believe that on some important subjects my opinions differ very
much from yours."—I am determined to stand square with Frederic
Harvey.
"In regard to our institutions, you mean? I know, that, spoken or
unspoken, hatred of them is carried in the heart of every New-
Englander. It is sometimes suppressed through politeness or from
interest, but I never saw a Northerner who was good for anything, in
whom it did not break out on the first provocation. I like as well to
have it fairly understood in the outset. I have had a letter from Harry
in answer to one of mine. It is explicit on this point."
I had no doubt it was very explicit. Frederic's eye meeting mine, he
caught my thought, and we had a good laugh together, which made
us better friends.
"The Northerners are brought up in their set of prejudices, as we in
ours. I can judge of the force of theirs by that of my own. I only
wish there was the same unanimity among us. We are a house
divided against itself."
And Frederic's face darkened,—perhaps with the recollection of the
rupture of old ties in Shaler's case,—or rather, as it seemed, with the
rankling of some later, nearer pain. He turned quickly away from the
intrusive thought, whatever it was. He does not like the unpleasant
side of things.
"At any rate, because Harry Dudley and I are to be adverse, it does
not follow that we are to be estranged. I cannot forget our school-
days,—our walks on the boulevards and the quays,—our rides in the
Bois,—our journeys together, when we were like brothers. I was
never so happy as in those days, when I had not a care or a duty in
the world."
He had the air, with his twenty-one years, of a weary man-of-the-
world. There was no affectation in it. Unless report have done him
injustice, the last two years have put a gulf between him and that
time.
I reminded him of the conversation between him and his sister, in
which they spoke of Harry Dudley before I knew who Harry Dudley
was. He remembered it, and returned very readily to the subject of
it. He related many incidents of the tour in Brittany, and spoke
warmly of the pleasure of travelling with a companion who is alive to
everything of interest in every sort. He said his travels in Germany,
and even in Italy, had hardly left with him so lively and enduring
impressions as this little journey into Brittany; for there he had gone
to the heart of things.
"I must see him again. We must meet once more as we used to
meet. We must have one good clasp of the hand; we must, at least,
say a kind good-bye to the old friendship. If, hereafter, we find
ourselves opposed in public life, I shall deal him the worst I can, but
with openness and loyalty like his own, and doing him more justice
in my heart, perhaps, than he will do me."
Frederic Harvey inquired anxiously where Harry was to be found,
and I was obliged to tell him of our intended meeting. I was afraid
he would propose to go with me. He was on the point of doing so,
but refrained, seeing that I was not expecting such a suggestion.
We could easily have arranged to meet at Quickster, which is about
the same distance from him that it is from me. But a ride of twenty
miles, most of them slow ones, beside a man with whom you are not
in full sympathy, is a trial. I did not feel called upon to undergo it for
him. When he took leave of me, he again seemed about to propose
something, and I felt it was this plan which was so natural; but he
was again withheld, by pride or by delicacy. Either feeling I could
sympathize with, and I was more touched by this reserve than by all
his friendly advances; but I hardened my heart. He mounted his
horse. I saw him go slowly down the path to the road, stoop from
the saddle to open the gate,—pass out. And then I was seized with
sudden compunction. I heard the slow step of his horse, receding as
if reluctantly, and ready to be checked at a hint. I ran to the gate.
Frederic was just turning away, as if he had been looking back,
expecting to see me; but in the same instant he gave an intimation
to his horse, and was out of the reach of my repentance.
"I liked him." With Harry these words mean a great deal. Could
Harry ever have liked him, if he had not been worthy to be liked?
How sad his look was, when he spoke of his happy boyish days!—
happier than these only because they were blameless. Was not this
regret itself an earnest of the power of return? He had good blood in
him. He is Charles Shaler's cousin. He has a weak, shallow mother,—
a father whose good qualities and whose faults are overlaid with the
same worldly varnish impartially. He feels the need of other
influences, and clings to Harry. He comes to me instinctively seeking
something he has not in his home. My mother has always judged
him more kindly than I have. If he had been a poor outcast child, I
should have felt his coming to me so frankly and so persistently to
be a sign I was to do something for him. Is there a greater need
than that of sympathy and honest counsel? I have been selfish, but
this pain is punishment enough. I feel a remorse surely out of
proportion to my sin. I do not prevent his going to meet Harry by
not asking him to go with me. He is not one to give up his wish; and
in this case there is no reason that he should. He will arrive; I am
sure of it. And I will atone, at least in part. I will ask him to join me
on the ride home.
Old Jasper has told me stories of Frederic Harvey's good-
heartedness in childhood: tells them to me, indeed, every time he
sees me. I remember one in particular, of the pretty little boy in his
foreign dress, and speaking his foreign language, carrying his own
breakfast one morning to the cabin where the old man lay sick; and
another of his taking away part of her load from a feeble woman;
and another of his falling on a driver and wresting from him the whip
with which he was lashing a fainting boy. But Jasper has only these
early stories to tell of him; and what different ones are current now!
In dear old New England the child is father of the man. There the
lovely infancy is the sure promise of the noble maturity. But where
justice is illegal! where mercy is a criminal indulgence! where youth
is disciplined to selfishness, and the man's first duty is to deny
himself his virtues! If the nephew of Augustus had lived, would he
indeed have been Marcellus? Heu pietas! Heu prisca fides!—these
might have been mourned, though Octavia had not wept her son.

Thursday, April 18, 1844.

It is thirty-five miles to Omocqua by the common road through
Metapora and Tenpinville; but I shall save myself five, going across
fields and through wood-paths, and coming out at Quickster. You left
the Omocqua road there, and took that to Quarleston. I shall stop
half an hour at Quickster to rest my horse and have a little talk with
Barton. I mean to allow myself ample time for the journey, that
Brownie may take it easily and yet bring me to Omocqua in season
for a stroll about the neighborhood with the Doctor and Harry before
nightfall. Some miles of my way are difficult with tree-stumps and
brush; a part of it is sandy; the last third is hilly. I have never been
farther on that road than Ossian, about three miles beyond
Quickster; but the country between Ossian and Omocqua is, I know,
very much like that between Quarleston and Cyclops, which you
found so beautiful and so tiresome.
I do not mean that my parting with Harry shall be a sad one. After
that day at Omocqua, I shall not meet his smile,—his hand will not
clasp mine again; but he will leave with me something of himself
which will not go from me. His courage, the energy of his
straightforward will, shall still nerve and brace me, though his cordial
voice may never again convey their influence to my heart. Wherever
he is, I shall know we are thinking, feeling together, and working
together; for I shall surely do what he asks of me: that he thinks it
worth doing is enough.
And Dr. Borrow does not leave me what he found me. It was with a
continual surprise that I learned how much there is of interest and
variety in our uniform neighborhood for a man who knows the
meaning of what he sees. How many things are full of suggestion
now that were mute before! He has given me glimpses of
undreamed-of pleasures. A practical man, following him in his walks,
and gathering up the hints he lets fall, might turn them to great real
use.
What a part the Doctor and such as he, disciples and interpreters of
Nature, would have in the world, how warmly they would be
welcomed everywhere, if these were only times in which men could
live as they were meant to live, happy and diligent, cherishing Earth
and adorning her, receiving her daily needful gifts, and from time to
time coming upon precious ones, which she, fond and wise mother,
has kept back for the surprise of some hour of minuter search or
bolder divination!
But now, how can we be at ease to enjoy our own lot, however
pleasantly it may have been cast for us, or to occupy ourselves with
material cares or works, even the most worthy and the most
rational?
We are taught to pray, "Thy kingdom come," before we ask for our
daily bread.
To pray for what we do not at the same time strive for, is it not an
impiety?
Dr. Borrow says that Harry is out of place in our time. I should rather
say that it is he himself who is here a century, or perhaps only a
half-century, too soon. Our first need now is of men clear-sighted to
moral truths, and intrepid to announce and maintain them.
It was through the consciousness, not yet lost, of eternal principles,
that primitive poetry made Themis the mother of the gracious Hours,
—those beneficent guardians, bringers of good gifts, promoters and
rewarders of man's happy labor. When Justice returns to make her
reign on earth, with her come back her lovely daughters, and all the
beautiful attendant train.
When that time arrives, the Doctor will have found his place, and
Harry will not have lost his.
Perhaps I shall not come back until Saturday. According to their plan,
Dr. Borrow and Harry are to leave Omocqua again to-morrow
afternoon; but I shall try to persuade them to remain until the next
morning. While they stay, I shall stay. When they go, Brownie and I
take our homeward road. In any case, I will write to you Friday
night, and send off my budget on Saturday without fail.
To-day has not given me anything to tell of it yet, except that it has
opened as it should, fresh and cloudless. In five hours I shall be on
the road.
My paper is blistered and the writing blurred with wet drops. It is
only that some freshly gathered flowers on my table have let fall
their dew upon the page. You, with the trace of mysticism that lurks
in your man of the world's heart, would be drawing unfavorable
auguries. I am too happy to accept any to-day. If fancy will sport
with this accident, let it feign that these morning tears are of
sympathy, but not of compassion; that they fall, not to dim my
hopes, but to hallow them.
Evening.
"In five hours I shall be on the road." So I wrote at six o'clock. I
wrote too confidently.
At eleven I had mounted my horse, had sent my last good-bye
through the open window, and had caught the last soft answer from
within. I lingered yet an instant, held by those links of tenderness
and solicitude that bind to home and make the moment of parting
for any unusual absence, even though a pleasant and desired one, a
moment of effort. A heavy, dragging step, which I almost knew
before I saw the lounging figure of Phil Phinn, warned me of a
different delay. I watched his slow approach with a resignation which
had still a little hope in it; but when he at last stood beside me and
began his ingratiating preamble, I felt my sentence confirmed. His
woe-begone face, his quivering voice, announced the suppliant
before he reached the recital of his wrongs; while the utter self-
abandonment of his attitude conveyed renunciation of all cares and
responsibilities in favor of his elected patron. I will not give you the
details of the difficulty of to-day,—an absurd and paltry one, yet
capable of serious consequences to him. I obeyed instinctively the
old-fashioned New-England principle I was brought up in, which
requires us to postpone the desire of the moment to its demands.
Sadly I led my horse to the stable, took off the saddle and put him
up. "I cannot be back until two," I thought, "perhaps not before
three. I shall lose our walk and our sunset; but even if it is as late as
four, I will still go." I ran into the house to say a word of explanation
to my mother; but she had heard and understood. She gave me a
look of sympathy, and I did not wait for more.
I set out resolutely in a direction opposite to that in which my own
road lay. Phil Phinn followed, already raised to complacency, though
not to energy. I outwalked him continually, and was obliged to stop
and wait for him to come up. He plainly thought my haste
unseasonable, and did not disguise that he was incommoded by the
sun and the mud. It was a tedious way, a long five miles for him and
for me.
We arrived at last at the house of his adversary, who, having,
besides the advantage of being in a superior position, also that of
justice on his side, could the more easily give way. I should soon
have come to an understanding with him, if my client, while leaving
me the whole responsibility of his case, had not found himself
unable to resign its management: he must lend me the aid of his
argumentative and persuasive gifts. After some hours of wrangling
and pleading, the matter was accommodated, and Phil Phinn,
without a care in the world, or the apprehension of ever having one
again, sauntered away toward his home. I set off for mine, already
doubtful of myself, remembering that I was not the only
disappointed one.
When I reached home, it was half-past six o'clock. I felt strongly
impelled to go, even then. My mother did not offer any objection,
but her look showed so plainly the anxiety the thought of a night-
ride caused her, that I gave it up without a word. I could not,
indeed, have arrived at Omocqua before midnight, and Harry would
long have done expecting me.
I am not as well satisfied with myself as I ought to be, having made
such a sacrifice to duty. I begin to ask myself, Was it made to duty?
After all, a little suspense would have done Phil Phinn good,—if
anything can do him good. And are not the claims of friendship
paramount to all other? Harry will be pained by needless anxiety.
Can he believe that I would, without grave cause, lose any of the
time we might yet have together? But a few hours will set all right.

Friday Night, April 19.

I am at home again. I take out the package which has been waiting
for the day at Omocqua. Hoarding is always imprudence. If these
letters of last week had gone on their day, they would have been
faithful messengers. Now they go to tell you of a happiness which
already is not mine,—of hopes and plans that you can never share.
Are these last pages yesterday's? A lifetime is between me and
them. The book I pushed aside to write them lies there open,
waiting to be recalled. Had it an interest for me only yesterday? The
flowers on my table still hold their frail, transient beauty. No longer
ago than when I gathered them, I could take pleasure in flowers!
I sit here and go through the history of these last two days,
retracing every minutest incident. I begin again. I make some one
little circumstance different, and with it all is changed. I pass into a
happy dream; I find myself smiling. And then I remember that I
cannot smile!
I was to write to you to-night. I should have written, if I had not
promised. I must spend these hours with you. Every object here is
so full of pain! Everything is so exactly as it was; and yet nothing
can ever be as it was to me again!
It seemed last evening that I suffered more from my disappointment
than was reasonable. I wished for sleep to shorten the hours of
waiting. But troubled dreams lengthened them instead. I was up at
three; at four I was on the road. I had an hour over fields and
cleared land; then came some miles through the woods. The forest-
ride had not its usual charm. I was still haunted by the failure of
yesterday. I could not bear the thought of being misjudged by Harry,
even for a moment. I longed to be with him and explain. But would
he find me absolved? I was glad to come out into light and
cheerfulness at Quickster. It was six o'clock when I stood before the
door of the Rapid Run. Barton came down to me, drew out his
pocket-book, and took from it a folded paper.
"Here is something of yours."
I opened it and found written in pencil,—"Jackson House,
Omocqua." The sight of that frank handwriting dispelled every
doubt.
"When was he here?"
"He came in a little before one yesterday. He asked if you had been
along. I thought not; you would have given me a call. He stayed
round here about an hour, waiting for you. I told him that you might
have struck the road farther down,—at Ossian, perhaps. He took a
horse of me, knowing you would ride."
"He was alone?"
"Yes. He told me Dr. Borrow was at Rentree; was to join him at
Omocqua this morning, though."
In half an hour we were on our way again. I was eager still, but no
longer impatient. There was no uncertainty in my mind now. Harry
was at Omocqua. He was expecting me. As to blaming me, he had
never thought of it. He would have imagined for me some better
excuse than I had to give. Or rather, it had never occurred to him
that I could need excuse. I should find him at the door on the
lookout for me. His hand would be in mine before I could dismount.
In the mean while the miles between us diminished rapidly. My
horse enjoyed, as I did, every step of the happy road. His prompt,
elastic tread showed it, and the alert ears which seemed not
watchful against danger, but vigilant to catch all the sweet and
animating sounds that cheered us forward.
Three miles from Quickster we came on the intended town of
Ossian. I stopped a moment. Harry had probably lingered here
yesterday, watching to see me emerge from that dusky wood-path.
He had found no one to speak to. One inhabitant outstayed the rest
a year; but he has now been long gone, and his house is falling in.
Beyond Ossian the road was new to me. For about three miles it is
good. Then the country becomes uneven, and soon after very hilly.
It was slower work here; but Brownie and I took it pleasantly.
"How far is it to Omocqua?" I asked, as he was passing me, a man
whom I had watched painfully descending in his little wagon the hill
I was about to climb.
He drew up at once.
"Omocqua? You are for Omocqua? An hour, or a little more; though I
am a good hour and a half from there. They had something of a fuss
down there last night, perhaps you know."
"What about?"
"Well, a man from Tenpinville met a runaway boy of his who had
been hiding round there. The fellow ran; his master hailed him, and
when he wouldn't stop, out with a pistol and shot him flat."
"What was the man's name?"
"If I heard, I've lost it. I put up just outside the town. If I'd gone in
to hear the talk, I might have got mixed up; and I'd no call."
The hour was a long one. I hardly wished it shorter, yet I tried to
hasten. I urged my horse; but mastery is of the spirit, not of the
hand or will. He had obeyed so well the unconscious impulse! and
now, though he started forward under the spur of an inciting word,
he soon forgot it, and mounted the slow hills and descended them
again with drudging step and listless ears.
What a meeting! what a topic for the nineteenth of April! I imagined
Harry's grief, his shame, his concentrated indignation. I remembered
the flash of his eye, the flush of his cheek, when Dr. Borrow was
telling of the approach of the slave-coffle from which they had
rescued Orphy. And with this a keen apprehension seized me. Would
Harry have been able to repress his remonstrance, his reprobation?
The common man I had just met had not trusted the acquired
prudence of half a century. Could Harry's warm young heart contain
itself?
Why was I not there? A warning, a restraining word——. But would
Harry have heard it? Could I have spoken it? Would he not have felt,
must not I have felt with him, that this was one of those moments
when to see wrong done without protesting is to share in it? And
then rose before me the possible scenes:—the beautiful, glowing
face, the noble, passionate words, the tumult, the clamor, the scoff,
the threat, the—— Oh, no! surely the angels would have had charge
concerning him!
When we reached the summit of the last hill, my horse stopped of
himself, as if to let me receive well into my mind the first lovely
aspect of the town below us, and thus connect a charm with its
name which nearer knowledge should not be able to disturb.
I yielded to the influence of the scene the more easily that it was in
such contrast with my perturbed feelings. We may court and cherish
a fanciful or a superficial grief; but the bitterly tormented mind asks
ease as the tortured body does, and takes eagerly the soothing
draught from any hand. The landscape, still freshened by the night,
and already brilliant with the day, spoke peace and hope. I accepted
the promise. Descending the hill, I thought and reasoned cheerfully.
I smiled that I should have fancied nothing could happen in
Omocqua, when Harry was there, without his having a part in it.
This took place last evening; he had not heard of it yet, perhaps. Or
he had heard of it; but not until it was over, and there was nothing
to be done. He was commonly silent under strong emotion. He
would have heard this story as he had heard others of the sort, with
resolved composure, finding in it new food for his inward purpose.
On the outskirts of the town I came to a little tavern, the one
probably at which my acquaintance of the road had lodged. I had
almost stopped to ask the news, but thought better of it, and was
going on, when a man sitting on a bench under a tree started up
and ran after me, shouting. I stopped, and he came up out of
breath.
"You thought we were shut, seeing us so still; but we're all on
hand."
I explained, that I was going to the Jackson House, where a friend
was to meet me.
"The Jackson House! That's head-quarters for news, just now. All
right. You looked as if you wanted to stop."
"I thought of stopping for a moment. I heard on the road that there
had been some sort of disturbance in your town yesterday. Is all
quiet now?"
"For aught I know."
"I heard there was a boy shot here yesterday."
"A boy?"
"A runaway."
"One of our waiters brought down such a story last night. They are
sharp after news of their own. I told him 'twas wholesome, if it
turned out so. But this morning it comes that it was the man who
was running him off that was shot. You'll hear all about it at the
Jackson. If you come back this way, stop and give me a word. I can't
leave."
There were a number of men on the piazza of the Jackson House.
Most of them had the air of habitual loungers; a few were evidently
travellers newly arrived. Not a figure that even from a distance I
could take for Harry Dudley. Some trunks and valises were waiting to
be carried in, but I saw nothing familiar. I recognized the landlord in
a man who was leaning against a pillar, smoking. He did not come
forward, or even raise his eyes, when I rode up. I bade him good-
morning, addressing him by name. He came forward a little,—bowed
in answer to my salutation, but did not speak.
"Is Mr. Dudley here?"
Brompton did not reply. He threw out two or three puffs of smoke,
then took the cigar from his lips and flung it from him. He looked
serious, and, I thought, displeased. My misgivings returned. Had
Harry incurred ill-will by some generous imprudence? Had he left the
house, perhaps? Was the landlord afraid of being involved in his
guest's discredit?
He spoke at last, with effort.
"Is your name——?"
"Colvil."
He came down the steps and stood close to me, laying a hand on
my horse's neck and stroking down his mane.
"Mr. Colvil, I don't know that anybody is to blame; but an accident
has happened here. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you of it."
I dismounted. Brompton made several attempts at beginning, but
stopped again.
"You had some trouble in your town yesterday," I said; "can that in
any way concern Mr. Dudley?"
"Are you a near friend of his?"
"Yes."
"A relation?"
"No."
He went on with more assurance.
"Mr. Dudley was here about a month ago. He had a sick boy with
him, whom he left here, in a manner under my care. He was to have
taken him away to-day. He arrived yesterday afternoon and asked
me to send for the boy. I sent for him. Mr. Dudley was expecting you
yesterday afternoon, and walked over to the Jefferson to see if there
was any mistake.
"The boy was his. It was all regular. He had him of Ruffin, who never
does anything unhandsome. I knew all about it. Ruffin was here with
a lot of all sorts he had been picking up round the country. He told
me to keep the boy pretty close while I had him in charge; and I
boarded him outside the town, with an old granny, who didn't know
but he was really in hiding. But it was all right. He was a pet servant,
spoiled till he grew saucy, and his master swapped him off,—but
quietly, the family set so much by the boy. They were to think he'd
been enticed away. But it must happen, that, exactly yesterday
afternoon, one of the sons came riding up to this very house. He left
his horse to the servant he brought with him; then comes up to the
door and asks if Mr. Dudley is here; hears that he has walked out,
and so walks out too. The first thing he meets, just out here on the
square, is this boy, whom he had been fond of, and only over-kind
to. The boy checks up, and then, like a fool, turns and runs. The
young man calls to him to stop,—and then, to stop or he'd shoot.
The boy only runs faster. Dudley was crossing the square, on his way
back from the Jefferson, and came up at the moment. He told Orphy
to stand still, and, stepping right between him and the levelled
pistol, called to the other to hold on. But the man was so mad with
rage at seeing his servant flout him and mind another, that he could
not stop his hand. I was standing where you are now. I saw Dudley
come up, with his even step, just as usual. I heard his voice, clear
and cool. I did not look for mischief until I heard the crack of the
pistol,—and there he was on the ground! I ran down to him. I was
going to have him taken into the house, but he wanted to lie in the
open air. We carried him round to the green behind the barn. There
was an army-surgeon here, on his way West. He did what he could,
but said it was only a question of hours. Dudley knew it. He wanted
to keep on till morning, thinking you might come. He lasted till after
daybreak. Will you go to him?"
I followed Brompton into the house, along the entry, across the
yard, through the great barn. A road led from a gate on a side-street
to a shed. Before us, on the other side of the road, was a green field
with one great tree. The grass under the tree was flattened.
"Yes, it was there," said Brompton. "He asked to be laid under that
tree. The sun was just setting over there. When evening came, we
wanted to take him to the house; but no. We let him have his will. It
was natural he should want to see the sky while he could."
Brompton led the way to the shed.
What struggles must have rent that strong young breast before the
life was dislodged from it! How must the spirit which had known this
earth only through innocent joys and sweet affections and lovely
hopes,—how must it have clung to its dear mortal dwelling-place!
how mourned its dividing ties! how claimed its work, unfinished,
unbegun! This grief, this yearning, this reluctance would have left
their story on the cold immovable face. With these, bodily torture
would have done its part to alter and impair! I followed my guide,
foreboding that the dumb anguish in my heart was to be displaced
by a fiercer pain.
There was no pain in his presence. In death, as in life, he kept his
own gift of blessing. The holy light still lay on the brow; about the
lips hovered a smile, last ethereal trace of the ascended spirit. My
soul lifted itself to his. I understood the peace that passeth
understanding.
An angry voice brought me back to the world and its discords.
"Do you think you were worth it?"
I looked where Brompton was looking, and saw, seated near, on an
overturned barrel, a figure which could be no other than that of
Orphy. He sat impassive. Brompton's cruel words had not reached
him. His misery was its own shield. His utter wretchedness precluded
more. But he felt my look fixed upon him. He raised his eyes to me
for a moment, then closed them again to shut himself in with his
woe. And now his face quivered all over; his lips parted and closed
rapidly,—not as forming articulate accents, but in the helpless
forlornness that has no language in which to utter plaint or appeal.
And yet on these trembling cheeks, about this inane mouth, still
lingered some of the soft, playful lines I remembered on the pretty,
varying face of little Airy Harvey!
On the way from the house I was conscious that a step followed us,
stopping when we stopped, and going on again when we did; but I
had not given thought to it until now, when I perceived a timid
movement behind me, and felt a light touch laid on my arm. I
turned, and met a pair of mournful, pleading eyes.
"Jasper!"
The old man stretched one trembling hand toward the dead, while
the other clasped my wrist.—"It was not meant! It was not meant!"
"It was not," said Brompton.
"Do not bear anger! He did not."
"He did not," echoed Brompton.
Jasper, searching my face, saw there what changed his look of
entreaty into one of compassion. He stroked my sleeve soothingly
with his poor shrunken fingers.—"And yet there never was anything
but love between you! Oh, think there is a sorer heart than yours
this day!"
"Where is he?" I asked, fearing lest that most unhappy one might be
near.
"Gone."—It was Brompton who answered.—"Gone, I believe. He was
here until all was over. He locked himself into a room up-stairs.
Dudley sent for him many times the night through, in the intervals of
his pain. I took the messages to him. But he could neither bear to
see the one he had killed, nor yet to go away, and have no chance
of seeing him again. At daybreak Dudley got up, saying he had
strength enough, and went as far as the barn on his way to the
house. There the surgeon met him and led him back, pledging his
word that the man should be brought, if it was by force. And it was
almost by force, but he was brought. Dudley raised himself a little,
when he came up, took his hand and clasped it close. 'Good-bye,
Fred!'—in a pleasant voice, as if he were ready for a journey and
must cheer up the friend he was to leave behind. And then he sank
back, still holding the other's hand, and looking up at him with his
kind eyes, not forgiving, but loving,—till the eyelids drooped and
closed softly, and he passed into a quiet sleep. When we left him, he
was breathing gently. We thought it was rest."
Jasper went humbly away, secure of his suit. Brompton, too,
withdrew silently.
In those first moments I had left below my loss and my grief to
follow the ascended; but now my human heart asked after the
human friend.
On the rich, disordered hair were signs of the mortal agony: the soft,
bright curls were loosened and dimmed. The pure forehead could
not be fairer than it was, yet the even, delicately finished eyebrows
seemed more strongly marked. The brown eyelashes showed long
and dark over the white cheek. The same noble serenity; the same
gentle strength; only the resolute lines about the mouth were
softened;—nothing now to resist or to dare!
Dr. Borrow would be here soon. I sat down on a block and waited.
Dr. Borrow! I had thought his love for Harry tinctured with
worldliness; but how honest and hearty it appeared to me now! I
had loved in Harry Dudley what he was to be, what he was to do. Dr.
Borrow had loved him for himself only, simply and sincerely. I
remembered the Doctor's misgivings, his cautions to me. How
negligently heard! Then it was only that he did not yet comprehend
the high calling of the boy whom we equally loved. Now I almost felt
as if I had a complicity in his fate,—as if the Doctor could demand
account of me.
That Harry Dudley would give himself to a great cause had been my
hope and faith; that he would spend himself on a chimera had been
Doctor Borrow's dread. But which of us had looked forward to this
utter waste? How reconcile it with Divine Omnipotence? with
Supreme Justice? Was there not here frustration of a master-work?
Was there not here a promise unfulfilled?
Careless footsteps and voices gave notice of the approach of men
brought by curiosity. Seeing me, and judging me not one of
themselves, they stop outside, confer a moment in lower tones,
come in singly, look, and go out again.
Then new voices. A tall, stout man stalked heavily in. "And the boy
was his own, after all," burst from him as he rejoined the others.
"The boy was not his own. He didn't buy him fairly to keep and work
him. It was a sham sale. He meant to free him from the first, and
the boy knew it. He was free by intention and in fact. He had all the
mischief in him of a free negro."
"The man was a New-Englander, and saw it differently," answered
the first voice.
"A man is not a fool because he is a New-Englander," replied the
second. "I am from New England myself."
"I don't see much of the same about you. Are there more there like
him or like you?"
"I tell you he has died as the fool dieth," the other answered sharply,
coming carelessly in as he spoke. He was a mean-looking man,
trimly dressed, in whom I could not but recognize the Yankee
schoolmaster.
As he stooped down over the man he had contemned, some
dormant inheritance of manhood revealed itself in his breast, some
lingering trace of richer blood stirred in his dull veins. He turned
away, cast towards me a humble, deprecating look, and, still
bending forward, went out on tiptoe.
Then, accompanied by a sweeping and a rustling, came a light step,
but a decided, and, I felt, an indifferent one. A woman came in. She
took account with imperious eyes of every object,—of me, of Orphy,
of the coarse bench spread with hay, which served as bier,—and
then walked confidently and coldly forward to the spectacle of death.
When she had sight of the beautiful young face, she uttered a cry,
then burst into passionate sobs, which she silenced as suddenly,
turned, shook her fist at Orphy, and was gone.
"Dr. Borrow is come."
Come! To what a different appointment!
"He asked for you," persisted Brompton, seeing that I did not rise.
"He is in the same room he had when they were here together. He
mistrusted something, or he had heard something; he said no word
until he was there. Then he asked me what he had got to be told,
and I told him."
I made a sign that I would go. Brompton left me with a look which
showed that he knew what a part I had before me.
Dr. Borrow was not a patient man. He was ruffled by a slight
contrariety. This unimagined grief, how was it to be borne? With
what words would he receive me? Would he even spare Harry
Dudley himself, in the reproaches which his love would only make
more bitter?
We three were to have met to-day. Was he the one to be wanting?
he who was never wanting? He who had been the life, the joy, of
those dearly remembered hours, was he to be the sorrow, the
burden of these? I went to him again; again earth and its anxieties
vanished from me. No, he would not be wanting to us.

When I touched the handle of the door, it was turned from the
inside. Dr. Borrow seized my hand, clasping it, not in greeting, but
like one who clings for succor. He searched my face with ardently
questioning look, as if I might have brought him mercy or reprieve.
He saw that I had not. A spasm passed over his face. His mouth
opened to speak, with voiceless effort. He motioned me to lead
where he was to go. We went down-stairs, and he followed me, as I
had followed Brompton, along the entry, across the yard, through
the barn. He glanced towards the tree and then took his way to the
shed. I did not enter with him.
When he came back to me, he was very pale, but his expression was
soft and tender as I had never known it. We went in again together,
and stood there side by side.
Brompton spoke from without. "There is one thing I have not told
you, Dr. Borrow."
The Doctor turned to him patiently.
"There was an inquest held early this morning."
Dr. Borrow lifted his hand to ward off more.
"Let me take my child and go!"
The Doctor looked towards Orphy. Again I had almost wronged him
in my thought. "Come, my lad," he said, kindly; "you and I must
take care of him home."
Orphy left his place of watch. He came and stood close beside the
Doctor, devoting his allegiance; tears gathered in the eyes that the
soul looked through once more; the mouth retook its own pathetic
smile.
I knew that Harry Dudley must lie in Massachusetts ground, but I
could not look my last so soon. Dr. Borrow saw my intention and
prevented it. He took my hand affectionately, yet as holding me from
him.
"Do not come. I am better off without you. I must battle this out
alone."
Then, a moment after, as feeling he had amends to make,—
"You have known him a few weeks. Think what I have lost,—the
child, the boy, the man! All my hopes were in him,—I did not myself
know how wholly!"

And beyond this anguish lay other, that he would have put off till its
time, but it pressed forward.
"Colvil, you are going home. You go to be consoled. What am I
going to?"
On the side-street, the swift tread of horses and the roll of rapid
wheels. A wagon stopped before the gate. What a joy Charles
Shaler's coming was to have been to us!
He was prepared. He came forward erect and stern. He saluted us
gravely in passing, went in and stood beside the bier. He remained
gazing intently for a little time,—then, laying his hand lightly on the
sacred forehead, raised his look to heaven. He came out composed
as he had entered.
Shaler spoke apart with Brompton, and returned to us.
"You would leave this place as soon as possible?" he said to Dr.
Borrow.
"Yes."
I had meant to combat the Doctor's desire that I should leave him,—
not for my own sake, but because I thought he would need me; but
I submitted now. Shaler would assume every care, and I saw that
Dr. Borrow yielded himself up implicitly.

The moment came. We lifted him reverently, Orphy propping with

his weak hands the arm that had once lent him its strength. We
carried him out into the sunshine he had loved, bright then as if it
still shone for him. The wind ruffled the lifeless hair whose sparkling
curls I had seen it caress so often.

It is over. Over with the last meeting, the last parting. Over with that
career in which I was to have lived, oh, how much more than in my
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