be done? Had father no friends who would assist us?"

"None that I know of. I do not think he had an acquaintance who approved
of our marriage. The neighboring planters have stood so aloof from me
that I do not know where to turn for either help or sympathy. I believe
it was Lorraine who sent the telegram. I wrote to you as soon as I could
after your father's death, but fainted just as I finished directing the
letter. I do not think he knows where your brother is, and, if possible,
he must not know. If you can by any means, _do_ send a letter to Harry
and warn him not to attempt to come home. I don't know how you will
succeed, for Lorraine has us all under surveillance. But it is according
to law."

"What law, mother?"

"The law of the strong against the weak."

"Oh, mother, it seems like a dreadful dream, a fearful nightmare! But I
cannot shake it off. Where is Gracie?"

"The dear child has been running down ever since her papa's death. She
clung to me night and day while I had the brain fever, and could not be
persuaded to leave me. She hardly ate anything for more than a week. She
has been dangerously ill for several days, and the doctor says she
cannot live. The fever has exhausted all her rallying power, and yet,
dear as she is to me, I would rather consign her to the deepest grave
than see her forced to be a slave."

"So would I. I wish I could die myself."

"Oh, Iola, do not talk so. Strive to be a Christian, to have faith in
the darkest hour. Were it not for my hope of heaven I couldn't stand all
this trouble."

"Mother, are these people Christians who made these laws which are
robbing us of our inheritance and reducing us to slavery? If this is
Christianity I hate and despise it. Would the most cruel heathen do
worse?"

"My dear child, I have not learned my Christianity from them. I have
learned it at the foot of the cross, and from this book," she said,
placing a New Testament in Iola's hands. "Some of the most beautiful
lessons of faith and trust I have ever learned were from among our lowly
people in their humble cabins."

"Mamma!" called a faint voice from the adjoining room. Marie
immediately arose and went to the bedside of her sick child, where Mammy
Liza was holding her faithful vigils. The child had just awakened from a
fitful sleep.

"I thought," she said, "that I heard Iola's voice. Has she come?"

"Yes, darling; do you want to see her?"

"Oh, yes," she said, as a bright smile broke