tes close to
the path, not recognizing it, terrified to go or to remain. And when at
length she found her way again and walked ahead, her little mouth and
childish chin working in a paroxysm of fright, a screech owl called and
made her almost scream with terror. Then she pulled herself together.
She and Tom had often listened to the owls and he had mimicked them. The
thought of him gave her courage and she went on, trembling and
determined, until the end of the path was reached and she could look
upon the open yard and home.

Then she did hear people coming. Off to the right were voices, a girl's
loud, coarse laughter and a man's rough tones. She crouched down that
her white dress might not show among the trees. The figures came into
sight, Maranthy, with old Jim, an ill-natured, ugly fellow, known to
neglect his wife and children. The two walked boldly over the white
sand, and as Hertha watched them the man caught the girl and hugged her
hard. She laughed and swore, pushing him away, and then, with an
animal-like motion, sidled up to him. Together they moved across the
yard, his arm tight about her waist, while she, lolling on his shoulder
and calling on Christ and God to damn him, gave him a smacking kiss upon
the mouth.

The room was reached at last. Hertha tore off her clothes, slipped into
her nightdress, and lay, a little huddled mass of shame and woe, upon
her bed. Her feet and hands were icy cold, her teeth were chattering,
but her brain was on fire. Pride and shame took equal possession of her
spirit. She had risked everything, she had been ready to give
everything, only to find herself despised. Ellen was right, her place
belonged with her own race. She was black, and she must never again
trust the white race that felt for her only an amused tolerance or
scorn. She was black, and hers was the black man's table, the black
man's home, the black man's burial-place. Never again would she think to
enter the white man's world.

And the beauty of her love was wholly gone. The courage with which her
lover had armed her had disappeared, and her affection, that had seemed
to her something pure and delicate, almost holy, became a common lust
that this man had awakened and then, disgusted at his choice of anything
so cheap, had cast aside. Nothing was left to her of the glory and
gladness of the morning.

But while shame and hurt pride swept over her, there came in their wake
an inexpressible relief. She was safe fro