room lay the stricken mother, almost distracted by her late bereavement.
"Oh, Iola," she exclaimed, as her daughter entered, "is this you? I am so sorry you came."
Then, burying her head in Iola's bosom, she wept convulsively. "Much as I love you," she continued, between her sobs, "and much as I longed to see you, I am sorry you came."
"Why, mother," replied Iola, astonished, "I received your telegram last Wednesday, and I took the earliest train I could get."
"My dear child, I never sent you a telegram. It was a trick to bring you down South and reduce you to slavery."
Iola eyed her mother curiously. What did she mean? Had grief dethroned her reason? Yet her eye was clear, her manner perfectly rational.
Marie saw the astounded look on Iola's face, and nerving herself to the task, said: "Iola, I must tell you what your father always enjoined me to be silent about. I did not think it was the wisest thing, but I yielded to his desires. I have negro blood in my veins. I was your father's slave before I married him. His relatives have set aside his will. The courts have declared our marriage null and void and my manumission illegal, and we are all to be remanded to slavery."
An expression of horror and anguish swept over Iola's face, and, turning deathly pale, she exclaimed, "Oh, mother, it can't be so! you must be dreaming!"
"No, my child; it is a terrible reality."
Almost wild with agony, Iola paced the floor, as the fearful truth broke in crushing anguish upon her mind. |
