"
"But if she does not love thee, surely she will speak that word. So then
say good-by to her and set about thy business."
I could not at that moment find it in my heart to speak further. We rose
and walked down to the street of the little town, and at the tavern barn
I secured a conveyance which took us both back to what had once been our
home. It was my mother's hands which, at a blackened old fireplace, in a
former slave's cabin, prepared what we ate that evening. Then, as the
sun sank in a warm glow beyond the old Blue Ridge, and our little valley
lay there warm and peaceful as of old, I drew her to the rude porch of
the whitewashed cabin, and we looked out, and talked of things which
must be mentioned. I told her--told her all my sad and bitter story,
from end to end.
"This, then," I concluded, more than an hour after I had begun, "is what
I have brought back to you--failure, failure, nothing but failure."
We sat in silence, looking out into the starry night, how long I do not
know. Then I heard her pray, openly, as was not the custom of her
people. "Lord, this is not my will. Is this Thy will?"
After a time she put her hand upon mine. "My son, now let us reason what
is the law.
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