ook that she was studying. But before touching it she drew back and
with a gesture of pain turned and looked across the room to the closed
door. A chair stood near the doorway and leaning against it again she
saw her landlady, her hand gripping the back, her every feature
breathing disgust. She could not rid herself of the figure, it would not
leave the room. And worse, shadows were gathering about it, black
shadows from which the figure shrank. They moved restlessly about, these
shadows, by the door and by the bed. They stood dark in the
gas-light--black faces with big, clumsy lips! black hands with red
palms; heads with black, woolly hair. Shutting her eyes, she summoned
all her strength to efface with life's reality the phantoms of a white
world's hate. She saw her old friendly home, her mammy, Ellen, Tom. She
looked into their kindly faces and touched their hands. Then with a
start her eyes opened and the shadows gathered about the figure at the
door.

There were noises in the room--big, deep voices, calling from between
thick lips. From heavy throats came coarse words and now and then a
grating laugh. The figure shrank again and gripped harder at the chair.

Why was the room so close? She had not closed the window when she had
lighted the gas. But the air was full of odors, thick odors, that
stifled. The figure drew back, its face drawn with disgust, trembling at
contact with the fetid smell.

In her chair at the table Hertha shrank within herself. She drew up her
feet, crouching against the cushions. Were they coming to her, too,
these figures? She called on them to leave her, but they came on. With
staring eyes she implored them to stop, to pass her by, but they only
leered and drew the closer. And as they came she shrank back further in
her chair.

Then for the first time in her life she felt shame at her uprearing. The
home that had been sacred to her, her refuge, was defiled. The black
faces danced before her eyes and she cowered, the coarse voices called
and she pressed her hands over her ears. The thick odors enveloped her,
and her face changed, her nostrils quivered, and with a movement of
disgust she dropped her head upon the table on her outstretched arms.

In the meantime, within her room, Mrs. Pickens restlessly examined her
piles of papers, seizing and discarding, searching feverishly for a date
until at length, on a yellowed sheet, she found what she sought. The
incredible was true. There was the