"She is not my child—Virginia. You will speak of it to no one. She is very, very dear." She clutched her throat with her hand. "She is very, very dear."
The young man arose, his face alight with relief.
"God bless you!" he said, and was gone.
As he left by one door the other opened. Virginia entered slowly. She stood behind Mrs. Allison's chair, so did not see her face.
"Mother," she said softly, "I won't go to-morrow; I don't care to meet this negro. I dare say it is wrong: I hate them out of their position; they are only fit for slaves. I won't go to-morrow."
Mrs. Allison half whispered, "No, you must not go."
Something in her voice startled the girl; she bent over and raised her mother's face to the light.
"What is the matter," she cried, "dearest? My own mother!"
Mrs. Allison turned and caught her in her arms. She kissed her face and hair and drew her to her breast, as if they had met after many years' separation.
