Emma is a
good girl. I helped bring her up myself and did all I could for her and
she--she is pure; marry her."
His voice came slow and firm:
"Emma? But I don't love Emma. I love--some one else."
Her heart bounded and again was still. It was that Washington girl then.
She answered dully, groping for words, for she was tired:
"Who is it?"
"The best woman in all the world, Zora."
"And is"--she struggled at the word madly--"is she pure?"
"She is more than pure."
"Then you must marry her, Bles."
"I am not worthy of her," he answered, sinking before her.
Then at last illumination dawned upon her blindness. She stood very
still and lifted up her eyes. The swamp was living, vibrant, tremulous.
There where the first long note of night lay shot with burning crimson,
burst in sudden radiance the wide beauty of the moon. There pulsed a
glory in the air. Her little hands groped and wandered over his
close-curled hair, and she sobbed, deep voiced:
"Will you--marry me, Bles?"
L'ENVOI
Lend me thine ears, O God the Reader, whose Fathers aforetime sent
mine down into the land of Egypt, into this House of Bondage. Lay
not these words aside for a moment's phantasy, but lift up thine
eyes upon the Horror in this land;--the maiming and mocking and
murdering of my people, and the prisonment of their souls.
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