"I--I was just going on an errand for Miss Smith!" she cried.
Looking down into her soul, Zora discerned its innocence and the fright
shining in the child's eyes. Her own eyes softened, her grip became a
caress, but her heart was hard.
The young man laughed awkwardly and strolled away. Zora looked back at
him and the paramount mission of her life formed itself in her mind. She
would protect this girl; she would protect all black girls. She would
make it possible for these poor beasts of burden to be decent in their
toil. Out of protection of womanhood as the central thought, she must
build ramparts against cruelty, poverty, and crime. All this in
turn--but now and first, the innocent girlhood of this daughter of shame
must be rescued from the devil. It was her duty, her heritage. She must
offer this unsullied soul up unto God in mighty atonement--but how? Here
now was no protection. Already lustful eyes were in wait, and the child
was too ignorant to protect herself. She must be sent to
boarding-school, somewhere far away; but the money? God! it was money,
money, always money. Then she stopped suddenly, thrilled with the
recollection of Mrs. Vanderpool's check.
She dismissed the girl with a kiss, and stood still a moment
considering. Money to send Emma off to school; money to buy a school
farm; money to "buy" tenants to live on it; money to furnish them
rations; money--
She went straight to Miss Smith.
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