ourage and she
just then badly hated her black father.

When the excitement was all over, Melanctha began to know her power,
the power she had so often felt stirring within her and which she now
knew she could use to make her stronger.

James Herbert did not win this fight with his daughter. After awhile
he forgot it as he soon forgot John and the cut of his sharp razor.
Melanctha almost forgot to hate her father, in her strong interest in
the power she now knew she had within her.

Melanctha did not care much now, any longer, to see John or his wife
or even the fine horses. This life was too quiet and accustomed and no
longer stirred her to any interest or excitement.

Melanctha now really was beginning as a woman. She was ready, and she
began to search in the streets and in dark corners to discover men and
to learn their natures and their various ways of working.

In these next years Melanctha learned many ways that lead to wisdom.
She learned the ways, and dimly in the distance she saw wisdom. These
years of learning led very straight to trouble for Melanctha, though
in these years Melanctha never did or meant anything that was really
wrong.

Girls who are brought up with care and watching can always find
moments to escape into the world, where they may learn the ways that
lead to wisdom. For a girl raised like Melanctha Herbert, such escape
was always very simple. Often she was alone, sometimes she was with a
fellow seeker, and she strayed and stood, sometimes by railroad yards,
sometimes on the docks or around new buildings where many men were
working. Then when the darkness covered everything all over, she would
begin to learn to know this man or that. She would advance, they would
respond, and then she would withdraw a little, dimly, and always she
did not know what it was that really held her. Sometimes she would
almost go over, and then the strength in her of not really knowing,
would stop the average man in his endeavor. It was a strange
experience of ignorance and power and desire. Melanctha did not know
what it was that she so badly wanted. She was afraid, and yet she did
not understand that here she really was a coward.

Boys had never meant much to Melanctha. They had always been too
young to content her. Melanctha had a strong respect for any kind of
successful power. It was this that always kept Melanctha nearer, in
her feeling toward her virile and unendurable black father, than she
ever was in