All at once she stood straight; her whole body grew tense, alert. She heard no sound behind her, but knew he was there, and braced herself. She must be true. She must be just. She must pay the uttermost farthing.
"Bles," she called faintly, but did not turn her head.
"Zora!"
"Bles," she choked, but her voice came stronger, "I know--all. 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. Let my people go, O Infinite One, lest the world shudder at The End