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Ży eSanction of Caw
Josh UA HENRY JONES, J.R.





BY SANCTION OF LAW
BY
JOSHUA HENRY JONES, Jr.
McGrath ‘Publishing Company
College Park, Maryland


Reprint McGrath Publishing Company 1969
Reprinted from the copy at Duke University
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 70-76115
Manufactured in the United States of America
by Arno Press, Inc., New York
Copyright, 1924
By B. J. BRIMMER COMPANY
First Printing, March, 1924


DEDICATED
TO
my father and the man I revere and most
deeply respect next to him, the Honorable
James M. Curley, Mayor of Boston.


BOOKS BY MR. JONES
Toems of the Four Seas, The
Heart of the World,
and Other poems


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BY SANCTION OF LAW





CHAPTER I
Colonel Park Lauriston sat in the shadiest corner of
the wide veranda ornamenting two sides of the magnifi-
cently roomy, many-gabled, “Big House” as it was still
known by all the pensioners of this South Carolina plan-
tation, from the Negro field hands to the tenantry and
overseers. As he sat, sheltered beneath an enormous
spread of white oak branches a soft near-spent gulf breeze
bore up to the nostrils of this typically aristocratic South-
erner the deliciously combined odors of flowering jas-
mine, green bay and honeysuckle though it was almost the
fag end of the summer season. It was to him like a breath
from an oasis in the midst of a hot, sandy desert.
The house stood at the rear of one of those old-fash-
ioned gardens in which grew well-trimmed, dwarf cypress
and juniper trees as well as many other specimens of
shrubbery and trailing vines; planted and grown in artis-
tic relation to their general appearance, and calculated to
satisfy the eye for beauty whether it saw them from the
big white sandy road on which it faced, or from the veran-
da from which Colonel Lauriston now gazed and medi-
tated. Over all this the very house itself towered with a
dignified aloofness as if to defy neighborliness with the
traffic that passed its distant front gate.
The day was one of those hot sultry mid-August times
when Nature seems parched and gasping. Before Colonel
Lauriston, on a tete-a-tete table, stood a glass of refresh-
ing julep from which he sipped luxuriously languid swal-
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
lows at the same time slowly fanning himself with a wide
palmetto leaf.
The attitude, the slow, leisurely deliberate movements
and the calm expression about the glinting yet kindly eyes
of grey indicated that he was in a happy, complacent
state of mind as if conscious of a duty done. And he was
satisfied in spirit for he had just ridden in after a trip
over the wide fields of his estate where blossoming cotton
rows drooped and a veritable sea of silking corn swayed
with languorous precision that almost caused one to
drowse and dream hypnotically. This ride had been tor-
rid beneath a still more torrid southern sun and Colonel
Lauriston was now resting, glad to be beneath the shade
and protected from the stifling heat that simmered up
from a parching earth.
The sun was not more than three hours from setting
now and Colonel Lauriston studied the shadows, extend-
ing from trees and shrubbery over the plush-soft lawn
divided in weird twistings by a white gravel walk and
driveway. From this contemplation his eyes roved to the
little particles of light that filtered through the leaves of
the great over-reaching oak.
“Drat it all,” he mused, “This heat is hellish. Here it
is, ‘lay-by' time and not a cooling breath stirring. Wish
'twas time to go North with Lyda—”
Before he could say more a delightfully musical voice
called from within the house:
“Daddy, did you call?”
Colonel Lauriston lifted his head deliberately to speak,
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changed his mind which refused to be distracted from its
reveries, then sipped from his glass at the same time set-
ting his fan in renewed motion. His meditative mood
gripped him again.
While busy with his thoughts his eyes lifted and his
vision fixed itself on the distance across the field and along
the ribbony road on which a vehicle of some sort could be
seen approaching. The Colonel’s eyes narrowed in effort
to more clearly discern the object approaching. The pu-
pils of his eyes also contracted, behind the lids, to beads of
steel as the vehicle raised its trail of hot parched dust then
he turned again to his fan and julep with:
“Old John can’t hide himself even in his dust.”
The thought caused the Colonel to chuckle with mirth at
his joke till his spare frame shook him almost into an out-
burst of laughter.
“In a devil of a hurry, too, for this time of day,” he
added as an after comment, still intent on the approach-
ing dust cloud. He turned for a moment to his refresh-
ment and when his eyes next took in the figure, man and
vehicle were turning into the open gateway at the front
of the lawn a quarter of a mile away and wheeling brisk-
ly up toward the veranda. The team showed no slacken-
ing of pace till buggy and passenger had rounded the
curving approach and swung up to the hitching post under
the tree whose patriarchal fifty-foot branches spread
themselves about the front of the house and its veranda as
if to guard and protect it from all the vicissitudes of
weather whether winter storms or summer suns.


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
This giant white oak was indeed a patriarch of the
plantation. It was planted in Colonial days by the found-
er of the house of Lauriston and encouraged to grow
through succeeding generations till now it had become the
most venerable and venerated bit of the estate except pos-
sibly the dining room plate and furnishings. These also
had been kept intact and handed down from head to head
of each succeeding generation of Lauristons.
Colonel Lauriston was himself now almost as much a
patriarch as was this oak and the “Big House” itself. A
tall, Indian-straight, spare-limbed man beyond middle
age, with aquiline features and the grace of kings in his
every motion, thoughtful eyes and high well-formed fore-
head set off by grey mustache and thinning hair.
As the buggy, horse and man stopped, creaking, pant-
ing and puffing at the post:
“Hello, John,” was the Colonel's greeting.
“Fu-fu-fu-fu-tuh, Hello Park,” stammered the visitor.
The two men had been neighbors and cronies since boy-
hood with that comradeship that grows between friends of
long standing.
“Aren’t you ’fraid you’ll leave some grease on the road
traipsin' 'long at this rate, John? It’s no time for fat men
like you to be fussing 'round country roads.” The Colonel
smiled broadly as he spoke.
“Fu-fu-fu-fu-tuh grease your grandad. Ef youall fu-
fu-fu-tuh had s-s-s-some o' my grease you'd fu-fu-fu-tuh
have asthma,” retorted the visitor.
“They’ll sure have to provide a new spring board in
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Hades when you jump off, John. Your three hundred
pounds 'll sure break the one they’re usin’ now,” twitted
Colonel Lauriston.
Having no ready reply to that sally, Old John Marley
good-naturedly joined in the laughter into which the Colo-
nel burst as he scored on the peculiarity of his boyhood
chum and visitor. Old John’s Falstavian sides heaved like
billows with each chuckle. The heft of John Marley had
been the source of joking between the two men for years,
though good-naturedly. Old John took both his bulk and
the twitting of his friend philosophically.
“Light, John 'n come up,” offered the Colonel hospit-
ably, when the joking ended.
Old John started to ease his proportions which had
seemed to spread themselves out over all the seat of the
buggy, tilting the body on its springs in such a degree as to
threaten overturning the vehicle.
“Look out! Look out!” shouted Colonel Lauriston,
“It’ll tilt over 'tother way on the flyback, if you don’t look
out.”
The prediction was false, however, for climbing out of
this buggy was no new experience to Old John. He finally
accomplished the process, dragged his flacidity up the steps
to the high veranda and swung over to the corner in which
the Colonel had been sitting, seated himself in a handy
stout rustic oak rocker of home-made design, built for
support rather than ornament and began fanning and
puffing. Colonel Lauriston seated himself again before his
drink and called:


BY SANCTION OF LAW
“Lida | Lida P’
The voice that had called to him when he first began
to rest again echoed from within some recess of the house.
“Yes, Daddy,” she responded.
“Bring another glass of mint, Girl. Company’s come,”
Colonel Lauriston requested.
The two men sat in silence for a few moments, Old John
Marley puffing as he rocked back and forth and fanned
to cool himself, Colonel Lauriston toying with his glass.
As they waited the screened door was pushed quietly open
and a tall girl, not yet fully entered into the first flush of
womanhood, lithe and full of vibrant vitality appeared
carrying a tray on which were two glasses of cool, tan-
talizingly refreshing julep.
She seemed a silver blond-haired goddess as she stepped
across the threshold onto the veranda with a free swing
indicative that she had not yet been spoiled by any affec-
tations or vanities. She bore the tray like a Hebe, her
summer frock, neither tight fitting nor loose, clung to her
form just enough to give emphasis to graceful proportions.
The eyes of both men followed her fondly as she ap-
proached and placed their glasses, removing that from
which her father had been sipping.
Old John noted every motion with approving eyes, in-
wardly commenting on the fact that she possessed her
father’s eyes except that they were larger and more of the
dreamy kind, with long lashes to match her hair. Her
hair hung down her back in one long full heavy braid as is
the style of simple, unaffected girls brought up in an at-
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
mosphere of simplicity. Her face had the general con-
tour of a Greek statue and conscious of the fact that the
elder man was studying her, her cheeks flushed to the deli-
cate pink of a shell from the sea, from her forehead along
her aquilinely aristocratic, sensitive nose to her well chis—
eled chin.
Old John noted the coloring and added to her con-
fusion by remarking:
“D-d-d-don’t you fu-fu-fu-tuh mind me, Lida. You're
a right pert girl and your daddy's pride. I fu-fu-fu-tuh
hope you'll be mine too, in a way, some day.”
She could stand no more but hurried confusedly into
the house where her blushing might not be seen. The
two men watched the figure of the retreating girl in fond
silence seemingly having forgotten their refreshments.
Old John was the first to speak. He slowly turned his
head from the door through which the girl had vanished as
if loath to lose the vision and half expecting that she
would return, sipped then drank heartily. Placing the
half emptied glass on the table he turned to Colonel
Lauriston.
“Fu-fu-fu-tuh I was fu-fu-fu-tuh thinking, Park, that
your girl would make a good match for my John. Fu-fu-
fu-tuh seeing's we’ve been fu-fu-fu-tuh friends and neigh-
bors fu-fu-fu-tuh so long and our fu-fu-fu-tuh families been
neighbors before us. It would fu-fu-fu-tuh be nice to have
our fu-fu-fu-tuh acres joined that way. We'd fu-fu-tuh
leave the pair mighty nigh, fu-fu-fu-tuh the whole of
Hebron County between us when we go. And it would
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
fu-fu-fu-tuh sort o'ease my way over the fu-fu-fu-tuh line
if I knew John had a wife like Lida fu-fu-fu-tuh to watch
out for him and raise his family.
Colonel Lauriston remained silent several moments then
asked:
“How's John feel about it? — You know Lida’s my
only girl and I won’t force her to anything. Her ma's not
here to look after her and I’ve got to. I believe in letting
her choose for herself when the time comes but I’m not
any too durned anxious to see her go from me even to
your son John. Besides, it’s no use doing her courting for
her; and I don’t believe John’ll take well to us old codgers
meddlin’ either. We're a pair of old doddering fools to
think of it. You know colts have got to have their heads
a little or they don’t break well to harness.”
“I fu-fu-fu-tuh, I’ve fu-fu-tuh talked with John and got
his slant. He likes the girl purty well. Fu-fu-tuh give
them a chance to fu-fu-fu-tuh be fu-fu-fu-tuh together
some and you’ll fu-fu-fu-tuh have another son and I’ll
fu-fu-fu-tuh have a daughter. It won’t fu-fu-fu-tuh take
two healthy young people like John and Lida long fu-fu-
fu-tuh to be holdin’ hands and lookin’ calf eyes at each
other if they fu-fu-fu-tuh run together a little. You've
fu-fu-fu-tuh held the girl too fu-tuh much to herself. Fu-
fu-fu-fu-tuh give her some company. Fu-fu-tuh give her
company.”
“Yes,” Colonel Lauriston's eyes narrowed as he spoke.
“You mean give her John's company. Well, I don't mind
telling you. I don't hanker after your land. It's made
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
you too durned much like a—a—a—a—,” here Colonel
Lauriston became lost for a fitting adjective with which to
describe the mass of fatty flesh before him. “I’ve got
enough for Lida and her bub, Elvin and as for company,
she’s going to have that for I’m leaving next week for the
North where Lida’s to have a year at school and see some
of the world and have company. Your John’s a likely
enough boy but he’ll have to take his chances with the
TeSt.
“My Elvin's finished off his schooling up there and it’s
done him a mighty sight o' good. He comes home this
fall and Lida goes for her chance. When she gets back if
John's willin’ he can pop like any other man — same's
you and I did, and take his answer. But as for me joining
hands and plotting with you for that event, I tell you
there’s too many chances o' his bein’ an old porpoise like
you when he ages for me to go yelling for him to be my
son-in-law. We’ve been good friends John — and good
neighbors but man, durned if I want any of your fat on
my hands.”
Old John began to stammer a reply but before he could
frame the words from around the corner of the house
there came screams and shouts of a woman in raving mad-
ness and anger.
“Let me go, you rascals! Let me go! Don't you dare
touch me. I will see him. Where's the old varmint?
Where's he – where’s he?—” Her screams became unin-
telligibly hysterical as she swept into view, two of the


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
screaming to the servants to grab the whip. At her shout
and the sight of the blow the two employees caught the
whip and held it. Mrs. Gorton's fury seemed to change
then and she railed like an infuriated witch.
“You’ll drive me off my place, will you? —” she raged.
“After all these years. Park Lauriston you’re vile —
you’re rotten — you-you-you dog! After all I’ve done for
you — after all I’ve been to you since your wife, the
mother of that girl, died. Now when I’m getting old and
no longer useful you’ll put me off your place, will you?
The day'll come when you’ll be sorry — the sorriest man
possible. You, with your pride of family. You’ll be sorry
Park Lauriston. There's justice for every wrong. This
may be my punishment but neither the blood of the
Carterets, nor the Beauforts of which you boast will save
you. My day will come and from this time on I — I —
curse you and your family.”
Her hysteria seemed to subside with the imprecation
pronounced in this most dramatic way, her hands up-
lifted and her face toward the skies. Her whitening hair,
straggly and fallen in disarray, added to the weirdness
and solemnity of the curse. As she lowered her head and
turned away her hysteria changed to tears. Lida was
clinging to her father protectingly, wide-eyed in wonder
and trying to understand it all, her face toward the woman
on whom she had always looked as a godmother but who
was suddenly turned her enemy, fearing the imprecations
and yet preserving a haughty pose.
“Yes,” continued the woman addressing her words to
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Lida. “Stand there in your pride and protect him. You
don’t know him and it’s a good thing you don't.” Her
anger rose again and she waved her hand as if to take in
the whole sweep of the plantation. “You’re all cursed,”
she shouted. “Your whole house is cursed and I’ll live
to see the day when ruin will stalk in your midst and
you’ll regret this day and doings. The whole brood of
Lauristons is cursed.”
Colonel Lauriston had caught his daughter in his arm
protectingly now as they stood listening to the woman’s
ravings. When she ceased and turned away, Lida began
to weep silently, depressed by the maledictions. Colonel
Lauriston led her gently back into the house, the girl
shuddering and asking between her sobs: “What does she
mean, Daddy? What does she mean?”
Some of us reach maturity out of youth so gradually
as to make the change unnoticeable; others bridge the gap
in a night or a day while others are made men and women
in an instant, by some great catastrophe or incident that
sees us children one moment and adults the next. We
face some great issue in life and the facing it makes over
our natures and we become men and women. With the
scene through which Lida Lauriston was just living she
was leaving her youth and insouciance behind her. Life
was gripping her in its whirl. She seemed to sense the
change yet could not fathom it.
When her question remained unanswered, between her
sobs as she clung to the arms that enfolded her, she asked
again:
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“Daddy, what did she mean? She-she-she was so hor-
rid.” Convulsive sobs were causing her body to shudder
as the tears flowed again.
“Never mind, child,” Colonel Lauriston comforted.
“We'll be leaving for the North next week and be out of
her way. She can’t harm you anyway. She meant noth-
ing. I just put her out of the crossroads house today and
she's mad.”
The scene was exceedingly painful to the three remain-
ing on the veranda after the woman had departed followed
by the servants. Colonel Lauriston's face was frightfully
distorted with spasms of passion surging through him as
well as the miserable, shuddering and hysterically weeping
Lida as she half reclined in his arms.
The situation was also painful for Old John Marley; so
intensely painful that when the ragings ceased with the
maledictions and father turned toward the door with his
daughter, Old John waddled toward the steps without at-
tempt at adieus. He turned only long enough as he was
about to descend to his buggy, to see Colonel Lauriston
half leading, half supporting the almost swooning girl into
the house at the same time saying:
“Never mind, Child — There now — Never mind —
Dont cry any more. I’ll take you right away and you’ll
soon forget the tauntings of the old woman. Don’t you
go and mind what Sally said.”
“But Daddy, she str-str-struck you,” Lida sobbed in an-
other outburst. “And-and-and-said such horrid things.”
Colonel Lauriston resorted to the pet name he had given
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his daughter when but little more than an infant so deeply
was he moved to console the girl.
“Never mind, Nubbins — never mind, Honey — Forget
her—We'll get ready and go North as soon as possible.”
He knew this was the one thing his daughter had set her
heart on and had been planning for as well as dreaming of
for some time and this appealed to him as the suggestion
that might most easily cause her to forget the present un-
fortunate affair. “We’ll get away the first of the week and
then you’ll forget. The winds up there'll bring back the
calm to your soul and the color to your cheeks.”
As he spoke he stroked the silver blond head that lay
on his shoulder till the convulsive sobs grew fewer and
fewer and finally quiet gripped Lida again.
Colonel Lauriston and his family differed much from
most of those most noted in South Carolina largely be-
cause of the long line of illustrious ancestors through which
the name had run from Colonial times to the present. Be-
cause of the boast of lineage in which blood was mingled
that of Huguenots from the Carterets, the Oglethorpes,
Cordovas and the Middletons, the family was one of the
most exclusive in the state and only after the War of the
States when the whole social fabric of the South was de-
stroyed did the blood of less illustrious persons enter into
the strain. In keeping with that background, Colonel
Lauriston had insisted that his family preserve the purity
of diction that would mark it from the remainder of the
natives, hence neither he nor any of his household had al-
lowed themselves to be affected by the nasal drawl so char-
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
acteristic of the South. Not only did Colonel Lauriston
scrupulously study himself to avoid this but he sought by
education and the training of his children to prevent them
from musically gliding over their words. To make sure
that they remained untouched by the habit adopted all
about them he had his children educated by correctly
speaking tutors and instructors, surrounded them with
persons who spoke only the purest language and sent them
to schools in the North to secure their education.
It was in keeping with this custom of his that he had
planned for his daughter, Lida, to have a year in the
North at some finishing school before she should assume
her place at the head of his domestic household, taking
the place of his wife who had died when Lida was but a
child.
I5


CHAPTER II
Market Square, in that Northern city to which Colonel
Lauriston had brought his daughter for her year of polish
and cultural finish was a busy mart on this delightful Au-
gust morning when they arrived. The change from the
stifling heat of the South to the entrancingly cooling blue
New England sky and sunshine had already worked ad-
ditional wonders in the cheeks and eyes of this flower of
the Carolinas. The former were delicately pink tinted and
the latter wider opened at the sights unfolding to her in
this new world; sights new to her but so common to this
staid old University city that they passed unnoted and
ignored.
To Lida, however, whose horizon up to this time had
been bound by vast fields of growing cotton, corn and
wheat, broken here and there by forests of oak and tall
pines this was a veritable fairy land from which she could
see the wide blue bay with ships coming and going, tugs
busily puffing away with their monstrous loads at their
sides or trailing along behind, the tugs seeming like and
reminding her of ants about her own home who tackled
and carted away loads many times larger than their seem-
ingly frail bodies and who, for their strength had always
been a source of wonder and marvel to the girl. She was
also reminded, as she watched the small tugs with their
buffers of plaited rope at their bows steam up to some
giant craft, of pictures of buffalos she had seen, with
bushily lowered heads charging across the plains.
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“Look, Daddy, aren’t they wonderful? It doesn’t seem
as if they could pull those monstrous ships. How can they
do it?” As she stood watching one of these little ants of
the sea swing a ship of leviathan-like proportions from her
slip, and point her down the bay, musical laughter of girl-
ish delight rippled from her throat. Even Colonel Lauris-
ton caught the spirit of his daughter and smiled happily as
he enjoyed her chatter and comment, pleased that she was
delighted and that he had been able to provide such joy
for her. At her laughter also, even the matter-of-fact old
New Englanders to whom such a sight was so common as
to be beneath their notice paused, looked at the girl in her
frank pleasure, then stopped also to enjoy the scene as if
viewing it for the first time.
Colonel Lauriston stood for a few moments allowing
Lida to take in the scenes that moved in panorama before
her ere warning her that they had to finish their journey.
As she stood gazing, entranced, down the harbor toward
the sea, Colonel Lauriston, loathed to break the spell that
held the girl, finally drew forth his watch and reminded
her: “Come, Lida, Child, we must be going.”
“Oh, Daddy, this is a wonderful place. I know I shall
love it!” She exclaimed enthusiastically.
Without answering, Colonel Lauriston aided her into
the taxicab that had been summoned when they alighted
from the conveyance by which they had come from the
train to the Square. He gave the address of their destina-
tion to the driver, then settled back, glad to see his daugh-
ter in such a happy mood. He had determined to place
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her in one of the most fashionable finishing institutions in
New England, Miss Gregory’s School for Girls, noted all
over the country for the careful training and the standing
given it among select schools, largely because of its prox-
imity to one of the larger universities of the East, in the
shadow of whose greatness this girls’ school basked.
Nestling among the elms for which the city was fa-
mous, on a prominence around which the wealth and aris-
tocracy of the city was grouped, the main building of Miss
Gregory's school sat fronting a well kept lawn, the elms
and lawn combining to create the picture of some mon-
astery of heavy stone masonry. This structure had once
been the home of an eccentric millionaire who toiled to
accumulate, then erected this mausoleum in which he
planned to pass his declining days overlooking the city
below and amusing himself counting the passing small
craft on the Seekonk River which passed the rear of his
wide garden.
When the mansion was built it was then the fashion of
New England aristocracy to acquire immense acres of land,
build imposing structures on some prominent and well
chosen part of it, fence in the entire plot with a high stone
wall and make a fairy garden out of a portion of the en-
closed land in the rear of the house, while utilizing the
other part for garden purposes. Such had been the history
of the ground now occupied by Miss Gregory's school.
The entire plot covered some twelve acres with this three-
storied cupola-studded castle-like building, now ivy over-
run standing as a bar to entrance if viewed from the front;
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
and like a monarch counting his fields if viewed from the
distant rear. Running vines covered most of the stone
wall, save at the corners where parapets like outposts were
built.
In former years, as the cherry and pear trees ripe with
tempting fruit stretched their tantalizing branches over
the wall, every passing school boy on his way to swim cast
longing eyes, but the height of the wall prevented any
yielding to temptation. Also in the spring the garden
seemed a veritable sanctuary for migratory birds who rev-
el in the freedom of the place and its security as every
breeze wafted to the street odors from blossoming flowers
and trees.
Gradually as the city grew to and beyond the estate
those who lived on the opposite sides of the streets bor-
dering it were treated to the beauty within, their upper
windows allowing clear view of the entire place.
The flowers and the gardens were still a feature as
were also the birds in spring, but where there was other-
wise silence and quiet now that Miss Gregory’s school
occupied the place, in the springtime and summer where
bird songs once charmed and tempted the passerby to
pause and listen, now there was the merry laughter of
girls at fun. Where once the cherries and pears tempted
passing boys now these were plucked from within by dar-
ing hoydenish girls, who once in a while in their daring
peered over the wall at the passing city from their perches
in the overhanging branches or sometimes dared discre-
tion and the wrath of some instructor or governess to toss
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
fruit to passing youth in a spirit of flirtation and in their
exuberance of youthful spirit. When once the fruit was
thrown there would be a bashful half-smothered scream
and the youth would look up just in time to see a face
quickly disappear.
It was to this school on Brook Street, that Colonel Lau-
riston brought his daughter after having carefully studied
the catalogues of more than half a hundred institutions
which offered to do for her what his ambitions had
planned. The carriage drew up to the walk leading to the
heavily carved, brass-knockered door and the two stepped
to the street. A bevy of eager curious-eyed faces watched
the Colonel and his daughter pass their luggage to at-
tendants and then walk to the door.
The school was just in the midst of fall opening and
older students were watching for the return of friends and
the incoming of new pupils. As father and daughter
reached the door it swung wide to welcome them and they
were soon seated in a large high vaulted reception room
while the servant sought Miss Gregory. Arrangements
for the year were soon completed and Lida enrolled as a
pupil.
Having installed Lida in the care of Miss Gregory and
satisfied himself that she would be well protected, Colonel
Lauriston departed. Miss Gregory, a small, calm, moth-
erly-faced woman whose hair was but just tinging grey,
whose popularity with her girl proteges was due to the
sympathetic heart she possessed and the tactful way she
had of persuading the girls to conduct themselves as she
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
wished, formed a liking for Lida from the first meeting.
The pupil from the South seemed so fresh and new to the
great world into which she had come that her very shyness
drew the sympathy of the educator and the two uncon-
sciously became friends though friendship was unpro-
fessed till later circumstances brought them together more
intimately.
Lida was miserably lonesome at the departure of her
father but as is the way with youth in good health these
pangs were forgotten in the excitement of surroundings
and new acquaintances except at night upon retiring and
upon awakening. Then tears would come to her eyes de-
spite her efforts at repression. At such times the world
became utterly desolate till after she had been at the
school a week Miss Gregory chanced to be passing her
room and thinking the girl asleep touched her cheek with
a caressing hand to find it moist.
Without a word she bent over the girl and kissed the
tear spot tenderly. Impulsively Lida clasped her arms
around the woman’s neck and wept till her grief was spent
while Miss Gregory soothed her nerves with cheering
whispers. This experience cemented the friendship be-
tween the girl and woman more closely.
“Never mind, Child,” Miss Gregory whispered. “Go
to sleep. In the morning there’ll be mail for you and
you’ll be happy.”
As she spoke a great maltese cat, which had followed
his mistress as was its custom, climbed to the girl's arms
and began to purr softly, at the same time rubbing. its
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
nose against Lida's hand in a friendly way.
“There, now!” whispered Miss Gregory. “You’re sure-
ly one of the family. See! Mopsie has adopted you and
he’s very particular as to his friendships. There aren’t
five girls in the school with whom he's on such friendly
terms as he is with you at this moment.”
Involuntarily the girl’s hand moved over the fur of the
cat's back and smiles replaced the tears. The cat, as if to
prove his entire friendliness turned then lay down con-
tentedly on Lida’s arm to sleep under the stroking of the
girl’s hand.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Miss Gregory. “I’ll soon
be jealous of you, Miss Lauriston. Mopsie never sleeps
in any arm but mine.” With that she kissed the girl
tenderly on the cheek again. Lida held the hand to her
cheek as she replied:
“I love you. You're kind and your kiss was just like
my mother's used to be.”
“You poor child!” was all Miss Gregory could say,
though her heart was full of tenderness. “What you need
is loving — and you’ll have it.”
As she spoke a flood of full harvest moonlight filled the
room, enveloping the three, it seemed a place of enchant-
ment and in this enchantment Lida soon slumbered her
lonesomeness forgotten while the elderly woman’s thoughts
retraced the years to the time when she was a girl at
school, her mind as flooded with the memories as the room
was of moonlight. As the girl slept she tiptoed gently
from the room back to her own apartment where she sat
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
for many minutes gazing out of her window into the soft
silvery-dewed night while memory conjured up romance
after romance of other days.
Miss Gregory's predictions of letters for the following
morning were true for when Lida awoke with the sun, re-
freshed as if out of a very pleasant dream, two letters on
her dressing table attracted her. With a bound of glad-
someness and pleased exclamations she was out of her
bed and kissing the envelopes in an abandonment of joy
as she noted that both were from her father. Feverishly
she opened both before reading either. One told of his
arrival in New York and of his meeting with old friends
whom he had not seen for years and the other mere per-
sonal, telling of his loneliness for her and his solicitation
for her ease and health. It was truly a paternal letter,
full of tenderness and cheer. Also was enclosed a check
for spending money.
Miss Gregory was waiting in the doorway of her apart-
ment as Lida started down the hall toward the stairway
leading to the dining room when the summons for break-
fast came. The former was wondering how the girl would
act toward her after a night's rest; whether the experience
of the evening had impressed the girl as it had her. Im-
pulsively as Lida espied the matron she rushed to her and
threw her arms about the woman in a girlish embrace.
Involuntarily Miss Gregory gently placed the girl's head
on her shoulder where it rested for a moment then the two
started down the stairway together, Lida telling of her
letters and the check.
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
“I suppose you’d like to make a shopping trip after
breakfast,” was her smiling comment.
“I’d love to,” was the enthusiastic reply.
“Very well, we’ll organize a party and I’ll chaperone
you.”
In the dining room the plan was announced and the
invitation extended to any of the girls who wished to ac-
company them. Breakfast was replete with chatter rela-
tive to the tour and when the meal ended there were sev-
eral who expressed a wish to go. The group started and
by a ten minute walk down the hill on which the Univer-
sity stood they were in the shopping district and soon ab-
sorbed in their tour.
With the party was a girl who had been three years at
the school, Louise Comstock, whose room was opposite
that of Lida’s and who because of being neighbors with
the girl had been her most intimate companion about the
school. These two made but small purchases on the trip
and soon wearied of walking from store to store. Both
she and Lida wished to return to the school or to simply
walk about the streets down town. The others in the
party, however, demurred, and after some debate it was
decided by Miss Gregory that Miss Comstock and Lida
should return to their rooms, the older girl being in
charge of the newer.
The groups then separated at the Arcade, the two retrac-
ing their steps while the remainder of the party continued
their shopping. Lida and Miss Comstock had reached
Market Square and were chattering in delightfully girlish
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
unmindfulness, greeting other passing and repassing
groups of girls bent on similar errands. From time to
time parties met and collected here and there obstructing
the sidewalk and overflowing into the street busy in their
world of youth and education, hailing and greeting each
other, waving hands and smilingly exchanging introduc-
tions oblivious to all except their little worlds. Youth is
all self center whether it is boy or girl youth and particular-
ly college or higher school youth.
The scene was merry with a merriness that was in-
fectious. Even staid business men were forced to smile
patiently as youthful femininity elbowed them off the side-
walks and into the street in blissful thoughtlessness;
others, accustomed to all this and similar scenes year after
year paused in their peregrinations to recall days when they
were equally full of vibrant life, health and optimism.
The square was filled with happiness and smiles. Even
the blue-coated police who seemed unusually numerous in
the Square seemed happy. -
Also the blue, undulating bay seemed to smile in the
sunlight; to smile back to rows of hucksters whose teams
flanked the bridge at the right and who hawked their
wares to the passerby with varying tones and syllables
that added to the crescendo of vocal utterances to be
heard.
As the two girls started across the square for the climb
up the hill to the school, from their left and around a
corner from the direction of the railway station came the
sound of band music and the tread of marching feet.
25


CHAPTER III
Youth always dislikes to miss any entertainment, even
such minor amusement as a small parade, being able to
extract excitement from the dullest of marching bodies.
Lida and her companion were no exception. At the sound
of the music one clutched the arm of the other as the two
paused.
“Oh, listen,” cried the older girl. “A band! — Some
parade. Oh, Goody! we’ll see some fun. That’s ripping!
We'll have something to tell the other girls.”
Lida’s heart was full of expectancy also. There are few
parades in the country and none with martial music,
particularly in the South. For this reason, though she had
witnessed some parades, on circus days when she had gone
to Lexington, near her home for a visit, the music of this
band was so lively and the occasion to unique in her life
that she was almost in an hysterically excited state.
The two girls stood arm in arm, listening in eagerness
while the noise of the parade approached but was as yet
unseen, around a further corner of the square. As they
stood, a band behind a large American flag, came into view.
Accompanying this flag was another emblem of the or-
ganization of street car men. A banner announced that
they were on strike and were parading to their hall for a
meeting.
On they came, into the square till the entire body, some
five hundred of them were in view. As the head of the
procession reached the square proper they were met by a
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
As they struggled a cobblestone swirled over Lida's
shoulder and crashed against the skull of a citizen who im-
mediately lost consciousness and slumped, though the com-
pactness of the crowd about him prevented his body for a
moment or so from falling to the paving where it was
later trampled into an unrecognizable mass.
Both girls now began screaming as the horror of their
predicament grew. In the midst of the confusion, just as
Lida was losing control of her senses and becoming entirely
mad she was conscious of a strong voice over her shoulder.
“I’ll protect you, ladies,” it said. “Don’t get nervous.
Don’t get nervous. Steady now! Steady!”
There was something so commanding about the voice;
something so vibrant, confident and reassuring that Lida’s
courage which had been forsaking her began to return.
She tried to see who was behind her but failed. The
soothing positiveness of the assertions she heard was re-
storing to her a calmness that a few moments before she
was ready to believe was impossible. Her companion,
however, was still screaming and battling.
Before she could collect her senses further the voice
commanded, still in that vibrant calm assured tone:
“Turn about now. Turn till you face me.”
The voice seemed now to be having the same effect on
Miss Comstock as it had on Lida for she ceased to scream.
Both girls, with every sway and twist of the crowd
wrenched their bodies till they were turned in the direc-
tion they had been commanded to take. With each give
and surge of the crowd they gained more freedom of move-
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
ment. When turned completely about they clung to each
other desperately and looked for the face of their rescuer.
His back was now turned to them but he talked to them
over his shoulder.
“Now catch my coat and cling for life. Don’t let go for
anything, and keep behind me,” he shouted.
The girls battled till they were pressed closely against
his back; so closely that they breathed with difficulty. He
waited till he felt the clutch at his coat and the clinging
arm about his waist. Tall of shoulders and ruggedly set
up he was almost complete protection for the girls on their
front. As they clung frantically to him he started to make
a path through the fighting mass. Fists were flying and
blows were aimed in promiscuous as well as disinterestedly
generous profusion at the head of the young man who
acted as their protector.
Lida was self-possessed enough by now, thanks to the
healthy outdoor life to which she had been bred that her
nervousness was leaving her. They moved toward the
outer edge of the crowd with slow, disputed steps. Lida
looked up at her protector and marvelled at the coolness
with which he fought for them; how he parried blows
aimed for him and through it all waded toward the rim of
the mass and safety.
Twice his head was tilted back by the blows which were
rained on him. Once Lida felt his progress halted and his
body tremble. She thought he was about to sink and
inwardly uttered a prayer for strength for him. His dark
almost curly hair, which fell about his face was shaken
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
back from his brow again and again by blows. Being
taller than most of those about him he was a target for
almost every other fighting man. Police clubs swung at
him at the salme time that fist blows came his way. He
parried them all with the deftness of a ring master but
never faltered in his advance toward the safety zone.
Once a giant fist landed a bone-cracking blow against
his chin and his head sank to his breast for an instant but
was raised again. The blow bruised the flesh and blood
flowed freely in a slow stream from the open wound. He
shook his head and Lida felt a drop of the warm fluid on
her cheek. It was a disagreeable sensation but she dare
not release her grip to remove it and in an instant forgot it.
At that moment she was conscious of more freedom of
movement and realized that they were almost free. A few
steps more and what had seemed hours but had really
been but a few minutes ended; they were approaching the
wall of a tall building. Willing hands, at the outer edge
of the mass reached for them and pulled them free. As
she became aware of this a heavy stone came hurtling
through the air from the midst of the mass and straight
for the man rescuing them. She shrank herself and tried
to shout a warning but could utter no syllable. She heard
the crash of the stone for she had closed her eyes from the
sight, and felt the body of the man weaken. She pressed
him more tightly about the waist as if to hold him in sup-
port. He faltered an instant. The pressure of her arm
seemed to revive him. He struggled on. A moment more
and they were safe. The girls still clung to him, however.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Without a word he rushed them along the side of the build-
ing to which they had come and to a drug store on a
further corner, through the rear entrance of that and again
into the street but beyond the riot zone. As they emerged
from the store a taxicab was passing. The driver was
seeking safety, fearing the mob would soon turn that way.
Without preliminaries the young man halted the cab,
opened the door, hurried the girls into it, shouting:
“East side! — East Side! Quick!”
The driver pulled his levers and drove rapidly up the
hill past the University and toward the vicinity of Miss
Gregory’s school. The girls were still in such a frantic
state of hysteria, though subdued, that when the cab
halted they feared another assault. Asked where they
wished to be driven, Lida who was the more composed of
the two decided they would walk, having seen the school
cupola a few streets away. Their rescuer started to ac-
company them but they demurred. Miss Comstock, who
had been weeping silently regained self control as they
walked away. The driver realizing that the young man
was in need of medical attention turned on the power and
hurried to find a physician.
The simple life of the Southern country girl had given
her a constitution to which “nerves” were unknown. Due
to this she was the more composed of the two girls, the less
shaken as they started down the street to the school en-
trance. Miss Comstock seemed to sense this strength and
clung shiveringly to Lida’s arm. The latter was the first
to speak. “Wasn’t it awful?” she commented, half mus-
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
ingly. Her companion shuddered and clung to the arm
she had grasped.
“A street fight.” Lida continued, her mind retracing the
events. “I wonder what it was all about? — I surely
thought we’d be killed — and we would have had it not
been for him — Oh!” she cried, standing still at the new
thought that intruded.
“Oh! we didn’t get his name. — How rude! — and he
was hurt too.” Then turning to Miss Comstock. “Did
you see how his head was bleeding. Poor man. He must
be frightfully hurt.”
She suddenly pictured again the flying stone as it crashed
against their rescuer’s head. Her heart filled with stifling
pain. She too began to weep as she recalled their struggle
to reach safety and the risk this unknown man had run to
save them, hysterical reaction forcing the tears and sobs.
“I shall love him all my life — love him and no other
man.” She vowed amid her tears.
Miss Comstock, who was now regaining her composure
proved consoling as she offered: “He certainly was brave
to risk his life for us in that mob. — Did you see his face?
—Such deep brown eyes — such a smile — and such cour-
age! — I wonder who he is! His face seemed familiar.”
“Poor man! We were a pair of selfish sillies not to
think of getting his name so we could thank him. Thanks
would be such small pay, though, for what he did for us.
It's perhaps better that we don’t thank him.”
“I wonder if he was badly hurt?” Miss Comstock asked
sorrowfully.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“Badly hurt. Poor — poor man! He's k-k-killed” Lida
sobbed sympathetically as she thought of and analyzed
the struggle, recalling the blows she knew struck his head
and shoulders. “I hate mobs!” she exclaimed vehemently.
“Mobs are such brutal things. Why do men fight and kill
anyway?”
Miss Comstock looked at her companion. “Why, I
thought you people in the South were used to mobs” she
said.
“Oh, they don’t count. Only niggers get hurt in them.
Besides my folks don’t indulge in those things. Southern
mobs are composed of the poor, the rough and the people
new to the country. The better class whites are above that
sort of thing. I hate those mobs too, she added. A mob’s
a mob and savage at the heart whether South or North, in
America or Timbuctoo.”
The girls had now reached the school and were soon
detailing the story of their experiences, to the teachers and
girls who gathered about them, having noted the disarray
of their clothing. Lida’s hat had been entirely lost and
her hair tumbled about her face, her waist and skirt almost
in ribbons and Miss Comstock in almost the same condi-
tion.
They were still in the midst of their recital which had
been freely interspersed with spasms of weeping as they
recalled frightful portions of their experiences. They
talked alternately, at the same time and sometimes with
a half dozen chattering at once but all being understood
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
when Miss Gregory and the others who had made the trip
burst in on them.
“Oh, my girls!” she exploded as she gathered them both
weepingly in her arms, “I’m so relieved — so relieved.”
With this she kissed them both in her excess of emotion
as she held them. “I’m so glad you reached home. I
was afraid you had been caught in that mob down street
and either hurt or killed. We just missed being caught in
it ourselves and saw ambulances rushing wounded to
hospitals and stations. Wasn't it awful? — Such fighting
I never saw. There was no regard for women and chil-
dren or anything else. I’m so glad you escaped and were
not in it.”
“Oh, but they were,” one of the girls answered. “They
had the thrillingest experience imaginable. Even to being
rescued by a handsome hero. I envy them.” At this
everybody burst into laughter thus banishing another ap-
proaching storm of weeping. “They were just telling us
about it when you returned.” The speaker continued.
“What?” exclaimed Miss Gregory, as she held each
girl off at arm’s length and inspected them, fear in her
heart again. “Were you hurt? Were you hurt,” she asked
frantically anxious. “Oh, why did I let you leave us!—
Why did I?— Think what might have happened!”
“Oh, but we’re all right now,” Lida volunteered. “–A
little shaken but that’s all.”
At this Miss Gregory became authoritative again. “Get
right to your rooms, Girls” she commanded to those who
had been grouped about Lida and Miss Comstock. “Right
34


CHAPTER IV
Truman Bennet was so weakened from loss of blood
and dizziness due to the last blow he had received before
he rushed the girls to safety that he feared he would faint
while they were in the cab with him. It was only exercise
of the giant will within him that he held control of himself
till the girls had left him. Had he not been afraid of
distressing them with his wounds he would not have
allowed them to quit the carriage till safely at their homes.
As it was when they turned from him, as he watched them
down the street, he smiled weakly for an instant then the
world blackened and his eyes became sightless while his
body slumped to the street, his knees crumpling under him.
He knew not how long he had remained unconscious.
It seemed eternities, suddenly he opened his eyes again
and reached his hands to his head as if to ease the pain
just above his ear. He felt the soft blood-matted sticky
wound and remembered again. He struggled to his feet
but slumped again, this time barely being conscious of the
face of the cab driver looking back at him.
When he regained consciousness again he was on the
operating table in the relief station to which he had been
rushed by the cab driver and was being bandaged as a
kindly doctor who had heard the cab driver’s story was
saying:
“Young man, you came very near to being a dead hero
at this time. You’d better thank your lucky stars you
have been getting your football training at the University.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Almost any other man would have been dead. I suppose
the picture of that pretty face you rescued kept you up.–
Now the romance begins.”
Truman continued to follow the movements of the phy-
sician but only half consciously, not yet realizing that it
was Dr. Bayard Tansey, Physical Director of the Uni-
versity who was speaking.
Dr. Tansey continued to talk smilingly. “You, I’m talk-
ing to. Look at me with those brown eyes. I suppose you
only see the face of a pretty girl now. All men are like
that. Go daffy for a pretty face then wake up after they
married. – You’ll do the same as the rest, if I get you
well. Guess I’ll let you die. — No, on second thought, if
you die you won’t know what I know about women and
every man ought to know at least as much. — Besides they
need you on the football squad yet awhile.” He was just
about to be puzzled at the still silent gazing eyes and to
wonder if there was not a blood clot on the brain which
paralyzed his patient’s senses when a film which seemed
to envelop Truman’s head faded away and intelligence
Ca1116.
Dr. Tansey noted the change. “Ah, I thought I’d bring
you to after awhile. You had a narrow squawk, boy.
Here taste this.” He held a medicine dropper to the
patient’s lips. The pungent fluid cleared away all the
mental clouds and Truman tried to rise.
“Steady, now. Not so fast.” Dr. Tansey stepped to the
table and gently pressed Bennet back to his reclining posi-
37


BY SANCTION OF LAW
tion as he spoke. “You mustn't do that,” he continued.
“You’ll spoil all my plans for you.”
Bennet again essayed to rise, the effect of the drops
administered to him now having fully cleared his brain.
With the attempt, however, he felt a stinging pain in his
head, lifted his hand to ease it and slowly pulled it away
as he touched the huge bandages in which his head was
swathed.
“What’s the matter, Doctor?” he asked.
“Nothing, only I’ve just saved St. Peter the disagreeable
task of kicking a perfectly good athlete out of Heaven
and preserved real promising football material from a
burning.”
“Yes, I know all that rot but what am I doing here?
and where's the girl — where's the mob — who hit me
with that brick?”
“Ah,” exclaimed the doctor. “I know you’re better now.
You’re a poor hero, even if you did do a good job in
rescuing two pretty girls out of a pretty mess.”
“Two girls! — Two girls! — Why, I only saw one.”
Bennet answered his brain now flashing back pictures of
the mob and the struggle.
“All the same — two or one — what does it matter?”
the doctor replied shaking his head in a whimsical man-
ner. “You’re a lost child now Bennet. You saw beauty
in distress, looked into her soulful eyes — and yielded to
Circe's power — plunged into a fight that was none of your
affair, – got your head cracked — and you’ll be loony
38


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
for the remainder of your life. All for a girl — a skirt — a
woman with large blue dreamy eyes.—
“Oh, don’t deny it,” he continued as Bennet raised a
hand to protest and defend the girl, though still weak from
the battle, the loss of blood and the operation. “- I got it
all from your ravings while under the anaesthetic and I
was operating, and from your cabby. Boy! your constitu-
tion’s iron, I guess. You raved like a mad one over the
girl.”
“By jove, Doctor Tansey, she was worth all the risk.
You ought have seen her. — A Hebe — a Juno — a Min-
erva – A – a – a – goddess. That’s it Doctor, a god-
dess.” Bennet's eyes sparkled as he pictured the girl in
his mind.
Dr. Tansey, the idol of the football team, in fact of all
the athletes at the University, burst into loud laughter at
this. Beneath his exterior of sarcasm and raillery all those
who came in contact with him at the emergency hospital
knew he was a man of sympathy for youth, particularly
youth suffering from injury. He adopted this attitude to-
ward those young men who came to him from the football,
baseball, track field or the gymnasium on the hill with
their injuries in order to test their sincerity, their vitality
and their spunk.
At the outburst of Bennet's he was pleased for he knew
that the vitality of this young swarthy giant of manhood
had not been sapped to danger point and that recovery
would be rapid. Even his chin hidden by an imperial cut
of hirsute adornment seemed to reflect the joy he felt at
39


BY SANCTION OF LAW
the discovery that Bennet was not in danger any longer.
He had formed a special liking for this black-haired foreign
looking American and there was more than ordinary joy
in his laughter when he exploded after Bennet finished
speaking of the girl. He raised his hands above his head
in token of surrender, as he exclaimed:
“Gone, gone, gone! Completely gone! Goodbye Bennet.
That blow on the head set you off completely. It knocked
the man out of you and turned you into a fool lover. I
suppose you’ll be off your game for the remainder of the
season and you’ll be mooning up and down the street in
front of Miss Gregory’s school from now — ”
Bennet almost set up from the chair on which he was
still reclining at the words.
“That’s where she's from? That’s where she's from?”
he asked. Dr. Tansey gave no answer. “I know it! I
know it!” “– Doctor take me to a ward — Please take me
to a ward. — How long shall I be here? —That's it.
That’s it!”
Dr. Tansey was replacing his scalpels in their case after
carefully cleansing them. He was so deliberate in his
movements as to be almost tantalizing. As he placed the
last one in its place and folded the case he looked at
Bennet and there was approval in his eyes. The blood was
flushing the latter's face again. Dr. Tansey walked over
to the chair, took a wrist in his hand and counted the pulse.
“You’ll—never—be” he was tormentingly
deliberate, “cured.” He looked at Bennet to see the effect
of the words and when he saw the disappointed look in
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
the boy’s eyes, he added “– till — you're married to her.”
With that he burst into laughter again and pressed the
hand he held in warm friendship.
Bennet gave the hand a returning grip then a twinkle
came into his eyes and he said “Bring her on and I’ll
marry her now.”
“Now I know you’re hopelessly foolish,” Dr. Tansey
replied. “No man in his senses would be willing to marry
a girl when he had no prospect ahead of him and at the
start of his senior year in college. And if I thought you
meant any such thing as that I’d go get that brick that laid
you out and present it to you again.”
Bennet was no longer listening to the doctor, however,
His mind was searching out the girl. Exhaustion was
creeping over him also, and he began drifting off to sleep
as the physician and an attendant whom he had now
summoned trundled the wounded youth off to his ward.
As Bennet was being lifted into his bed Dr. Tansey,
immaculate in his suit of white duck eased the bandages
about the wounded man’s head, whose eyes were becoming
more and more drowsy as he half muttered: “Get me
well, quickly, Doctor. She's a queen.”
It was several weeks before Bennet was sufficiently re-
covered to leave the hospital and return to college and
several weeks longer before he was able to take part in the
football contests scheduled for that fall. He was greatly
missed by the entire team. The strike had long since been
settled and the clash of police and workmen almost for-
gotten. So rapidly do human events follow one another.
4 I


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Those incidents in our lives that shock us today are gone
and forgotten tomorrow. All adding to the sum of life
and experience; all making history as we move toward
eternity.
42


CHAPTER V
There was one place, however, where the scenes of that
day were never forgotten and among the girls of Miss
Gregory’s school the incidents were told and retold with
romantic variations and speculations. To Lida mention of
the day's events were becoming seemingly distasteful for
she would never speak of them; but away from her studies
and in her room, alone, the pictures of that scene ever
recurred and with the picture came the image of her hero
of the occasion.
She wondered what had become of him; whether he had
died of his wounds, whether he had recovered; who he was
and why she had never met him again to thank him in
person. Often she pictured to herself scenes in which they
met and she had thanked him for his bravery. At such
times a crimson flush tinted her cheeks and suffused her
neck clear to the shoulders as she shyly thought of actions
her heart told her she might be led to perform in her
gratitude. Constant picturing of these scenes had created
in her a shy distrust of herself and a constant conflicting
struggle for and against such a meeting. If they ever did
meet again she hoped it would be by accident and she
would be taken unawares for otherwise she felt she would
run from the meeting.
As thoughts of his condition came to her she would be
filled with pity at the memory of his wounds. This pity
more and more often awakened tender thoughts and she
wished she might have been near to nurse him, to care for
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his wounds and to show by nursing how she appreciated
his unselfish efforts to rescue them.
When pity awakens tender thoughts love is just over the
fence within easy call. So when these moments of pitying
came Bennet loomed to her as an unknown hero and she
treasured the thoughts in her heart as a girlish romance
too sacred to be disclosed. Hence it was that all reference
to the events of that day became outwardly distasteful to
her; so seemingly distasteful that her schoolmates ceased
to attempt to discuss them with her.
To all the girls of the school the events of that day were
sources of wonderful romances. Each treasured the stories
told in her heart and pictured herself enviously as the
heroine of the occasion. While Lida refused to allow her-
self to be drawn out and to expose the inward dreams
of her heart for general discussion, not so Louise Com-
stock. Though she confessed she was too excited and
distracted to see who it was who rescued them she knew
he was big and strong and dark and foreign looking and
that was enough for her. She was frank in her expressions
of love for him and delighted in picturing meetings with
this unknown hero. Also she felt a growing conviction
that she knew him.
Each night at the hour for retirement a group of girls
would gather in one of their rooms, and in the darkness
or under the moonlight which they allowed to shimmer
through their curtained windows they would build ro-
mance upon romance with themselves as heroines and the
unknown rescuer as hero.


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“When I marry him,” Louise Comstock announced one
night as the girls were gathered in her room and were
romancing, “I’ll not let one of you girls come to the wed-
ding. I’d be afraid of you all. I’d be jealous.”
“Why, Louise!” several exclaimed at once.
“Yes, I’m too ravenously in love with him to let you
girls have a look at him.”
That was as much as she had opportunity to announce
for all the girls pounced on her with sofa pillows, sheets,
cushions and whatever soft thing they could battle with
and soon Louise was being smothered beneath an ava-
lanche of feathers while all the girls were screaming and
laughing with the fun. So furious was the battle that Miss
Gregory was called from her suite by the noise to subdue
them.
Lida, who had been soundly sleeping, wandering amid
pleasant dreams was awakened by the noise and commo-
tion. As she roused the moon from a bright October sky
flooded the room with its silver sheen that was almost a
dreamlike day. The great pale disk, round and bright as
only a harvest moon can be, was almost over head, causing
the still clinging autumn leaves of the elms whose branches
spread from sidewalk to sidewalk to make a dark fairy
bower beneath them on the street. Through these falling
leaves, now thinning with the accumulations of frost there
danced and sparkled on the street little bright silver
patches between the dark.
When the girls had been quieted Lida tried again to close
her eyes and sleep but the brightness of the moon, the
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clearness of the sky showing through the treetops, and the
quietness of the street all seemed to cast a dream spell
over her that she could not overcome. Casting a robe
about her and gathering some cushions about her feet she
drew a chair and sat by the window looking out on the
dew-sprinkled lawn and the street along which it ran till
her gaze trailed itself out into the distant sky where only a
few stars twinkled; and out where her thoughts could
roam at will.
There was an entrancing stillness about the night with
all the earth in slumber, the whole scene spreading out
like some fairy garden over which some witching spell had
been cast. As she sat, there came over her a loneliness, a
dreaminess, that caused her to sigh aloud. Her heart
seemed especially filled with tenderness and pity tonight
as she sat, her elbows on the sill, her hands cupped and
her chin resting in them, a lone teardrop hanging like
pearls at the corner of each eye. A breeze, gentle and
almost warm rustled the light silken sleeves of her gown
and the lacy trimmings at her throat. Almost unconscious-
ly her voice gave sound to the thoughts running through
her mind.
“I wonder,” she sighed, “if we'll ever meet? — I’d just
like to tell him how much I thank him — He's the hero of
my heart — and always will be. — Oh, I wonder if he's
dead — Poor man.” At this thought she bowed her head
and wept silently. As she bowed her head in tears a figure
at the base of the great elm near her window stirred as if
to move. It was not the intention of the figure to play
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
eavesdropper on a girl. As the figure moved the girl raised
her head again. The figure hid behind the trunk of the
tree again. To move would have been cruel to the girl as
well as to have disclosed himself in a despicable act. One
impulse prompted him to bolt and run while the delicate
sense of honor and sympathy also cautioned him that to
move would have been to disclose to the girl that she had
been overheard and to have caused her shame. He de-
cided to remain hidden and to preserve the secret of her
anguish.
“I am so lonely.” Lida sighed. “So lonely without love.
Without his love. I love him. I do love him. I wonder
if he lives. I’d give the world to know if he ever thinks of
me — if he's dead. He can’t be dead though, for some
sense would have told me.”
It is the first impulse of human beings when they have
been religiously taught, when in the midst of great emo-
tions; in the face of great difficulties and in the face of
great crises in their lives, if never before, to pray. The
first prompting of Lida’s heart in her mood was to pray
and she lifted her face to the sky as she uttered the words:
“Oh God, Thou knowest my heart; Thou hast given me
love; give me the one I love.”
The first impulse of Truman Bennet, for it was he who
stood beneath her window, was to disclose himself. He
realized, however, that he was in the presence of too deep
a sentiment, too sincere an emotion and too reverent an
occasion to spoil it all by disclosing himself, however much
his heart leaped with gladness at the discovery that the
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feelings that prompted him were also so deeply moving
the girl on whom his heart had set itself. He longed to
make himself known yet felt the impropriety of intrusion
on such a sacred hour in the girl’s life and on such a
sacred event. He resolved to treasure this maiden's secret,
however, and never to take advantage of the knowledge
he had gained that he was loved by her.
“I shall prove ever worthy of that love, though I never
attain it, so help me God” he solemnly swore.
As if her prayer was answered there stole over Lida a
calmness and serenity that was like the night itself. Her
soul seemed satisfied and after drinking in the blissfulness
of the night scene a few moments longer she sighed audibly
then slowly closed the shutters and retired, to peaceful
slumber.
Truman Bennet when he was able to leave the hospital
had lived, dreamed and hoped for nothing so much as to
meet the girl he had rescued and become acquainted with
her. Having learned from Doctor Tansey’s conversation
that she was a pupil at Miss Gregory’s school he had
ended his evenings by strolling by the great school and its
high stone walls hoping for another glimpse of the face
that haunted him, or for a chance meeting that would
make them acquaintances. It was on one such errand as
this that brought him alone and lonesome by the school
this night when the girls were at their pranks and Lida
had awakened. As the figure stirred and the shutters
opened to the night he was so selfconscious of his errand
that he thought it must be known to someone in the school
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and that this person had opened the window to tell him to
move along and mind his own business; also not to be
lurking about the school like a thief in the night. This
was the thought that prompted him to step behind the
trunk of the friendly elm and hide himself from view.
Having hidden himself when he discovered the girl in her
musings he realized what a shameful though unintentional
predicament it was in which he was placed and the
embarrassment of the girl should he disclose himself, so
when the panic of his soul subsided he reasoned that it
were better to remain hidden than to be the cause of any
discomfiture to the girl.
As he realized the state of the girl's heart toward him
the last vestige of youth in him vanished and in its stead
came manhood. So do events shape and reshape our
beings; so do we rise or fall to meet circumstances. Those
who have the character measure up to events that con-
front them, and those who lack that character to measure
up, shrivel and dwindle. It is by such as this that we
succeed or fail.
Truman Bennet walked on air as he returned to his
room that night. Yet the seriousness of realizing that he
had the heart of a girl in his keeping even though un-
pledged and undisclosed sobered his happiness and
caused him to sit by his window long hours before he re-
tired for sleep. He debated with himself what his course
under the circumstances should be.
“Shall I,” he asked himself, “go to this girl whom I love
and confess my love then ask for hers, or shall I keep
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silent? What would I have done had I met her. What
a fool I was to go near that school. What a fool I am
any way! How can I love or let myself love when I have
my way to make. To confess that I was within hearing
of her voice would be to lose me whatever chance I might
have. She would consider me a cad and rightly. No, I
could never do that. She would have nothing to do with
me then. No, the only thing I can do is to trust to chance.
I love her, though. Love her with all the being in me.
“I wonder if she would understand? I doubt it. She
seems a timid thing; and yet no, she is not timid. What
shall I do? I don’t know. Yet they say, ‘faint heart ne'er
won fair lady.” — I guess I’ll let circumstances guide me.
No, that's shirking. Ah, I have it. I shall pass her
window again each night and some night when she's
awake I’ll begin to talk as if to myself and tell her who I
am and that I love her. Perhaps she'll understand then
and if she really meant what she said tonight I’ll know
then I can act. If she really loves me, boy, oh boy, the
world is mine!”
That weighty question settled to the satisfaction of
youth Bennet was soon abed and asleep. He awoke sev-
eral hours later refreshed and with a song in his heart.
Youth always sings in the morning hours. It seems ap-
propriate. Youth is morning and morning the youth of the
day—so youth, song and morning go hand in hand. With
Bennet's first waking hour came the picture of the scene
witnessed the evening previous. The memory filled him
with happy dreams again and as he pictured the form at
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the window, leaning out into the dewy night while the soft
wind was causing Lida’s long loosely combed hair to wave
back and forth about her neck and throat the vow he had
overheard so filled him with joy that his eyes filled with
tears of pain. He looked from the window of his room into
which the sun was shining but saw only the silver moon-
light of the night before and the image at the window.
“Oh, God, how I love her!” He exclaimed fervently
while tears filled his eyes. “What a wonder girl.” His
thoughts became seriously sobered again as he added,
“God help me to prove a man to her. May I never fail
her l’’
Truman Bennet’s injuries had been so serious that his
services were practically lost to the team for the season
and by the time he was in condition to play the season
was over. His mental state, also was such as to cause Dr.
Tansey to deny permission for him to enter into any of
the contests. With nothing to do but study and dream
of Lida, Bennet found himself each night strolling by the
window from which the girl’s confession had been made,
hoping for another glimpse of her yet fearing to be seen
lest he be recognized.
There was no chance for a meeting since he knew none
of the girls at Miss Gregory’s school and had no chance
for an introduction. His soul was agonized alternately
with despair and hope. Fortune smiled on Bennet, how-
ever, most unexpectedly.
5 I


CHAPTER VI
Both schools had now settled down to the routine of
book life for the winter when announcement at the college
and at Miss Gregory’s school told of the reception to the
President of the college, an annual affair to which the girls
of the school were usually invited.
This first social function of the year for the college was
usually a bore to most of the professors and the students
alike. While informal, there were so many strangers among
the Freshmen and guests, there was little chance for
making acquaintances. Those who attended, in the large
reception room of the common dining hall, appropriately
draped for the event, sought little groups here and there to
renew acquaintance or to be introduced to newer comers.
Except for the professors and teachers who came from
year to year and the older of the students the entire affair
was dull. Some of the younger classmen tried to dance
after being presented to partners, others sat off in corners
talking light conversational chatter. Bennet was just be-
ing bored with the affair and preparing to greet the Presi-
dent then leave when he thought, “Ah, she might come.
She's new and some of the girls may bring her. Perhaps
I’d better wait.”
He was about to pass into an adjoining room to seek a
corner from which he could watch the door when he was
halted by a call from Dean Ira Sandager.
“Here, just a moment, Bennet,” he beckoned. Bennet
turned to the speaker who stood in a small group and
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walked over to Dean Sandager. The latter taking the
young man by the arm drew him into the group beside
him, smiling. “You’ve met my friends?” Dean Sandager
asked bowing toward those standing with him. Bennet
smiled as a young man and two young women greeted him
with outstretched hand, at the same time exclaiming,
“hello, Bennet” the girls merely nodded.
“Oh, yes, we’ve met,” Bennet laughingly shook hands.
One of the young women of the group stood partially
facing another group with whom she was speaking. She
heard the voice of the newcomer and instinctively turned.
As she did so her eyes met those of Bennet. Both were
unguarded in their meeting. A vivid crimson colored Lida
Lauriston’s face for an instant then she blanched as her
eyes drooped. Bennet almost gasped in his surprise, the
smile waning on his face. There was an awkward stillness
for a moment. One of the young ladies in the group,
however, turned to Bennet, with:
“Miss Lauriston, I don’t believe you've met Mr. Bennet.
Miss Lauriston, Mr. Bennet.”
Bennet's head was in a whirl. Embarrassment over-
came him. He stammered and struggled to master him-
self. He wanted to extend his hand but resisted. Lida
was flustered herself at the surprise of the meeting so
suddenly with the man over whom she had often dreamed.
The situation was fast becoming awkward when the young
woman who spoke first added:
“Miss Lauriston is new here. I’m sure you’ve never
met. — She's here at Miss Gregory's for the first year.”
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Bennet inwardly thanked the speaker for the words. It
gave him opportunity to recover somewhat. Lida was still
silent.
“He’s one of our heroes, Miss Lauriston,” Dean Sandager
offered. “One of our athletes.”
“Oh!” was all she could gasp before Dean Sandager
continued. “He’s off the team this year, because of ac-
cident. Got mixed up in that mob of strikers and got hurt.
—You remember seeing the stories in the papers. They
say he rescued some girls, too. — Never got the straight of
it. — Bennet never would talk of it and the papers never
identified him or the girls.”
He was resting his hand fondly on Bennet's shoulder as
he spoke. The latter was embarrassed to perspiration.
Lida was too overcome to say anything of what she might
and as conversation lagged, Dean Sandager turned to
Bennet, with, “Get the ladies some refreshments, Bennet.”
Glad of an excuse Bennet turned and was off to do the
errand after learning the desires of those in the group.
Lida looked after the retreating form of Bennet as he
passed behind a grouping of fernery and palms into the
refreshment room. On returning all sought seats about
the room. Neither Lida nor Bennet was aware of the
manner in which they became paired as they thought of
the event afterward, but when they started for the side of
the room they found themselves together.
Bennet's heart was pounding a tattoo against his coat.
He looked helplessly at those ahead of him. Lida too was
still embarrassed. There were not seats enough for them
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all together, Lida and Bennet being in the rear were left
without.
“You’ll have to find seats, Bennet,” said Dean Sandager
waving a hand. “-Not room here.”
“All right, Sir,” he answered; then turned toward one
of the adjoining rooms. As they started to enter, Lida still
embarrassed and feeling that her emotions would be dis-
closed under the light, exclaimed:
“Oh, let’s don’t sit here. Let’s walk. I can eat my salad
walking. I’ll feel better. — Let’s don’t eat. — I don’t want
to eat.”
Bennet was of the same mind and taking the plate she
offered placed them on a table while they continued
through the rooms to one unoccupied. Neither of them
spoke, each glad to be with the other yet afraid to trust
to their feelings. Bennet remembering the moonlight scene
hesitated, not wishing to remind the girl of the circum-
stances under which they had met, if she had forgotten
and she, remaining silent lest she say too much. She felt,
however, that she must thank him. She realized that it
was for her to express thanks for the rescue, if the subject
was to be mentioned at all. They walked on like two
bashful children. At last Lida determined. With a deep
intake of breath she began.
“Mr. Bennet!” She paused to control her emotions, all
the little speeches she had planned and rehearsed were
forgotten as wave after wave of blushes suffused her face.
Bennet waited, himself as little under control as she,
happy to be with the girl of whom he had been dreaming
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constantly and yet dumb for her very presence. At last
Lida continued.
“Mr. Bennet — I have long wanted to know you and to
thank you for the service done me that day.”
Bennet longed to take her tenderly in his arms, he had
so often pictured the hope of such a right. He mastered
the desire, however, remembering that he had sworn not
to let her know he had overheard her vow that moonlight
fall night. He waved a hand as if to pass the incident off
lightly with: “Oh, it was a pleasure to serve you. I am
glad I could help.”
“You not only helped, you saved my life. — I can never
hope to thank you sufficiently” she said fervently.
“You need not thank me. I would do it over again
tonight and willingly.” His voice vibrated like the basso
of some stringed instrument.
“That’s noble of you. And I’ll never forget it.” Her
voice was sincerity itself.
“I don’t think I'd say never, Miss Lauriston. Never,
you know, is a long while — and sometimes, under stress
we say things we soon forget — or may wish to forget.”
“But I know myself. Besides your bravery was noble
indeed and I’d be mean to forget it. I couldn't, Mr. Ben-
net— I couldn't. I only regret I have no way of showing
you how much your noble action means to me.”
“There is a way, Miss Lauriston — a real way — a way
I'd appreciate to my dying day.”
“You’ve only to make it known. When I think of the
way you struggled to save us; of the mad mob that was
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about us, and of your wound — Oh, it was cruel — cruel
—cruel — and to think you did it for two unknown girls.”
“Not for two, Miss Lauriston, but for one — for you.”
This was said in such a solemn tone that the girl, who had
been looking off across the wide quadrangle of the campus
turned quickly to him. There was a sadness in the tone
that was convincing. The emotions that surged in both
were two strong for utterance. For reply Lida touched
his arm with the gentleness of a zephyr. For some reason
Bennet was seized with a feeling of deep depression, as the
arm still rested on his sleeve he said:
“There is one way in which you might please me, Miss
Lauriston, and that is by permitting us to know real
friendship. I hope I don’t ask too much.”
“Why, I already look on you as my friend and you
always will be my friend. I could not be anything less.”
“Friendship means something deeper to me than the
word ordinarily means. Once a friend, always a friend,
with me. Friendship means understanding, sympathy, in-
terpretation of moods, generosity of spirit.”
“It means all that and more to me also. Effort to im-
part happiness; a sharing of sunshine and clouds of life,
loyalty. Those are some of my ideas of friendship and
when I say you have my friendship and always will have
it those are no idle words.”
With the words they clasped hands. There was sud-
denly and unconsciously an upturning of her face toward
his which looked down toward her. His arms stole about
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her and her head drooped in his simplicity of frankness,
to his breast while he whispered:
“Heart of Mine, I love you — I love you — I love you
and always will. That is the friendship I want. I always
have since first I saw you and I always will. It is not
friendship I want — I want love — I want you. I want
you as I have wanted nothing else in life.” His voice
trembled with deep emotion which overmastered him.
Lida remained motionless for a few moments filled with
happiness and the consciousness that her love was returned
while tears filled her eyes. Suddenly she said:
“Mr. Bennet, I am a simple girl. I have not been long
out in the world. I don’t know the ways of the world.
What I said I mean. I have been told that men talk light-
ly and seldom mean what they say when they talk of love.
Your words make me supremely happy for my heart has
been yours. Please don’t deceive me. I love you as only
an honest true-hearted girl can love and I trust you. I
hope my trust is not vain.” This was said so earnestly
and honestly Bennet was breathlessly pained. “I suppose
it is brazen to be telling you this so frankly but I was
brought up to be truthful and natural. You asked for my
friendship. It is yours — my heart is yours — I trust you.
If you deceive me I shall die. I know so little of the world
and its ways. If you don’t really love me, please don’t
deceive me. Take back your words and though I’ll never
forget them and will love you for them, I’ll forgive you
and we’ll part friends.”
As she concluded she looked up at Bennet's face which
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was still turned to hers. There was infinite tenderness
written there. Tenderness that was so strong as to make
Lida regret her words. He pressed her head back to where
it rested on his breast while he said:
“I know men, these days, speak lightly of love and
pledge themselves without meaning to be serious. I am
not of that kind. As I honor my mother so I mean my
love to be true; so it shall be true. As we live and breathe
my heart is yours and always will be. My Love, I love
you. Let me whisper it again, I love you and ever will.”
“If you really love me” the honesty of her heart in her
words, “then night is day to me. There is no world but
this in which we live, you and I. Nothing shall come be-
tween us. Nothing can come between us. Where you go
my heart will be; where you are my dreams will attend
you.”
“Ah, Love of Mine,” Bennet breathed, “those words are
sweet. Sweetest I have heard since years ago when my
mother used to sing us as children to sleep.”
Lida drew a deep intake of breath. “Speaking of
mothers” she said, “I have a token I would like to have
you wear as emblem of our love and in memory of this
night.”
“I need no other emblem than your love, Girl of Mine”
Bennet whispered.
“Oh, but, Truman—”
“Say that again, please,” Bennet interrupted “it sounded
so charming coming from your lips.”
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“It’s my mother’s ring, Truman, and I’d like to have
you wear it. Just for me.”
“I also have my mother's wedding ring. I hope you'll
keep it for me and may it guard you as it has me.” She
touched it to her lips as she answered: “I shall love it—
and treasure it.”
Lida and Bennet had forgotten time and were only re-
called to their senses when Louise Comstock came into
the room and exclaimed:
“Oh, Lida, I have found you at last. I’ve been looking
everywhere for you.” When she recognized Bennet as
Lida's escort a spasm of pain and smiles in combination
passed over her face and she turned suddenly back into
the great reception room. “Oh!” was the only word she
uttered. When next noted by any of her friends she was
bidding them goodbye, her wraps about her and her escort
waiting.
6o


CHAPTER VII
The spell under which Lida and Bennet had been in-
fluenced for the while was now broken and they returned
to the reception room in time to see Louise departing.
Lida started from Bennet's side toward the girl but before
she could reach Louise the latter was halfway down the
steps and running for the car which awaited them.
“Why — why — wh-wh-what’s the matter with
Louise?” Lida asked turning to Bennet. “She never acted
like that before.”
“I don’t know,” Bennet replied, “Never mind her, Girl
of Mine. You’ll see her at the school and perhaps she'll
explain. I’m sure I don’t know.”
“But that’s so unlike Louise. I can’t understand it. I
must go home and see what is the trouble.”
Lida was not long in preparing for her departure and
as she stepped from the reception room to the vestibule
and started down the steps toward Bennet she seemed a
queen stepping from some previous century and back into
life. Bennet noted the lightness of her step and the happy
beauty of her face. His entire being thrilled with gladness
at the thought of having her love. Bennet ushered her
tenderly into the car and they were off. The distance was
so short from college to school that almost before they
were seated the automobile in which they were riding drew
up at the entrance to the school. They were loath to leave.
“Oh, here so soon?” Lida asked.
“Do you regret the shortness of this our first ride, Girl
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of mine?” asked Truman, again his voice vibrating like
some melodic basso string.
“I don’t want to go in,” she confessed. “I wish we
might just ride on and on and on into the night and out
of it into the daylight and beyond — anywhere, so long as
I’m with you.”
“That’s noble of you, and I love you all the more for it.
The stars of this night are my witnesses. I’ll ever take
care of you so that you ride only in happiness.” Bennet
pledged confidently. Youth reckons so little on circum-
stances and consequences.
At the pledge she touched her head to his breast for
an instant, as if silently to drink in the intoxicating ex-
perience. “I didn’t know love could be so good,” she
sighed. Her head rested but a moment, however, before
the driver had dismounted and was opening the door for
them to alight. Bennet lifted her lightly from the car and
escorted her up the steps and into the vestibule. There
they stood a moment in parting embrace.
“I hate to leave you — Don’t go, Truman, my love. I
wish we might never part. I hate so to let you go. This
is the happiest hour of my life. Do you blame me then
for wanting to prolong it?” she asked.
“How could I blame the one I love. If parting be pain-
ful to you how much more painful must it be to me. I
have been heart hungry for love like yours.
“I’ll try to be both mother and sweetheart to you, Tru-
man. — I must say goodnight now and yet I hate to.
Good night dear heart—May God’s best angels guard you.
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As sleep overtakes me tonight I’ll whisper your name,
Truman.”
“Good night. Heaven has been good to me in giving
me you. A gift I shall ever cherish. A gift in which I
already feel I am envied. How happy I am!”
“Let’s try and temper our happiness, Truman, so it will
last. I want our love to last; not be like the love of so
many nowadays. With so many it is a case of off with the
old love on with the new. I could not love that way. One
lasting love mine shall be.—Good night, Dear—and may
God keep you.”
Bennet, as he reviewed the scene walking to his room
failed to recall how he reached the street. His happiness
was so intoxicating as to have cheated his memory of the
moments intervening between his farewell with Lida and
his reaching the sidewalk in front of the school. When he
found himself he seemed to be gliding above the sidewalk
and not touching the ground at all. This was the begin-
ning of a happiness that continued until long after the
holidays and well into the spring term.
This being Bennet's last year in college the lovers busied
themselves, between studies, with planning for their home.
Prom week came, one of the annual institutions of every
New England college, a time when books were forgotten
and the heart of youth was the only serious study under-
taken. Girls at Miss Gregory's were busy with their party
plans, their dresses and their beaus. The engagement of
Bennet and Lida was well established in the minds of all
the girls despite efforts on the part of the two at concealing

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the fact from the general public. All the girls were aware
of the state of affairs with the single exception of the
head of the school. With proverbial consistency the only
person who should have known most of all of the engage-
ment was the one person who did not, Miss Gregory.
Following the encounter of Louise Comstock with Lida
and Bennet at the President’s reception intercourse be-
tween the two girls was strained and difficult. Lida was so
centered in her studies and Bennet, that she gave little heed
to the incident and the two girls having no classes together,
any personal contact or confidences was easily avoided,
particularly since Louise made a very studied effort to
escape contact where possible. From the hour of the recep-
tion, however, there came over Louise Comstock a mood
that changed her from a happy hearted and usually frank
girl into a quiet, taciturn and somewhat morose miss.
The occasion for the change disclosed itself, when les-
sons aside a group of the young women had ensconced
themselves in the corner of the great reception room on the
main floor of the school, amid a profusion of sofa pillows
and were discussing partners and escorts for the dance,
the feature of Prom week.
“Paul will be here from Yale, just think of that girls!”
chattered one of the group.
“Yes, and Harry will come to take me. He wrote me
yesterday that he could get away,” spoke up another.
Louise Comstock was just coming into the room from
one of the upper floors when several of the girls spoke at
Once:
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“Who’s going to take you, to the dance, Louise?” She
hesitated and flushed before speaking. She had had sev-
eral of the young men from college inviting her to be their
guests but had refused them all. She was hoping for an
invitation from one, but that one never realized, so never
asked her. Pressed for an answer, as the girls grouped
themselves about her she waved them aside with only the
words, “wait and see.”
“Oh, I hate mysteries. Why make one of this, Louise.
Come on, be a sport, tell us. I’m not afraid to say, Paul
will take me. Harry is to take Madge and we each know
who the other girls’ fussers are. Who's yours.”
“Wait and see,” was all she would answer. With that
she departed. When she left, however, there was deter-
mination in her mind. It was rather a bold move and she
flushed as she determined but decided to go through with
it. Going to her room she hastily scribbled a note, donned
her wraps and left for the street as if to mail it. She
walked toward the men's college and when near there es-
pied a small boy peddling papers.
“Take this note to the address on it — and here’s a dime
for your trouble.”
The urchin took the note in his soiled hands, looked at
the dime then read the address and answered, knowingly,
“Yes Miss. Any answer?”
“No. Just say I’m waiting” she suggested.
The youngster made his way across the campus to the
main college hall and up to Bennet's room. After rapping
on the door and being bidden to enter, the boy asked:
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“Is Mr. Bennet here?”
“This is Mr. Bennet,” answered Truman at which the
note was handed to him. The boy waited while Bennet
read:
Dear Mr. Bennet:
I know this is unconventional but I would like a few
words with you. I’ll be waiting at the main gate.
The Girl you rescued.
At reading the signature Bennet immediately thought
of Lida but the note not being in her handwriting he
realized it was not she who wished to see him. He had
forgotten Louise for the time. He reread the note and
stood gazing at it till recalled by the words of the news-
boy who was still waiting.
“She’s a swell Dame that's waitin’ for youze” he
volunteered hoping for another tip, knowing from ex-
perience the prodigality of college boys, particularly where
note carrying was concerned. He was disappointed, how-
ever, for Bennet instead of handing him another coin or
making any remark got into his hat and coat and strode
down the stairs. At the gate he was greeted with an ex-
tended hand, and:
“How do you do, Mr. Bennet?”
Bennet raised his hat and smiled, a little bit puzzled;
then waited for the girl to speak again.
“I suppose I’m very bold and I’ve lost in your estima-
tion but I’ve wanted for ever so long to let you know how
grateful I was for the way you came to our rescue that
afternoon last fall. At first I did not know who you were,
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and could not thank you; then I have not seen you very
much since, and there has been no opportunity.”
“Oh, there's no need for thanks, Miss — Miss — Com-
stock?” He recalled the name at mention of the rescue.
“I sincerely hope you are recovered and have not suffered
from the experience.”
Louise placed her hands over her heart to still the
perturbation there but failed. Her breath came in short
puffs and confusion suffused her face. She was glad to
note that Bennet had not embarrassed her by failing to
remember her.
“I shall never forget your bravery, Mr. Bennet — and I
can never thank you enough. You don’t know how often
I wished for the opportunity to personally express my
gratitude,” she exclaimed. “It never came so I sought it
tonight. Do you think the less of me for it.”
“On the contrary I honor you for the frankness you've
shown. In these days of flappers and feminism it is
thoroughly in keeping with the times that you should act
with freedom.”
“You’ll think me bolder still and less feminine when I tell
you that I have a great favor to ask of you” — she touched
his arm as she essayed to speak. “Now don’t pledge your-
self till you know what it is. That wouldn’t be fair to you.
I have a special reason for asking. — It is that you allow
me to be your guest at the dance.”
The two had been walking slowly along the twilight
brightened street. When she made the request, Bennet
halted and faced the girl, surprise almost taking his breath
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away. Bennet thought of Lida then wondered. He looked
at the girl at his side and saw only earnestness and sin-
cerity in her face. At first he was on the point of denounc-
ing her but at sight of the seriousness mirrored in her
countenance he controlled himself and was all sympathy.
“You can’t really mean that, Miss Comstock. You're
joking” Bennet managed to say.
“I’m in deep earnest, Mr. Bennet.” The tone proved
her sincerity.
The solemnity with which the words were uttered and
the expression on the girl’s face were convincing. They
had paused in their walk and stood facing each other.
There was a long silence in which the nervous breathing
of each could be heard. One could also almost hear the
throbbing of the girl’s heart. Bennet spoke at last, in his
deep vibrant voice.
“Pardon me. I couldn’t sense it at first. I’m sorry—
very sorry I cannot, however much I like to oblige a lady
and relieve her of the embarrassment of such a situation.
I would not have had this happen for the world. Why,
—don't you know of my engagement — Miss Comstock
you can’t be serious. I’m engaged to Miss Lida Lauriston.
Didn’t you know that?”
“Engaged to Lida? Oh-h-h-h—I didn’t know. I didn’t
know. I didn’t know.” At these words the girl was over-
come with a fit of weeping for a few moments, great
spasms of grief shaking her entire body. Suddenly, with
tears blinding her she wheeled and hurriedly — almost ran
from him.
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CHAPTER VIII
Bennet's heart was full of compassion for the girl and
her distress over her disappointment, knowing what depth
of feeling must have prompted her to make such a request
of him. He returned to his room, a feeling of deep misery
enveloping him because of the unavoidable hurt he had
given the girl.
Yet what could he do? He tried to discover wherein
he had been to blame for placing the girl in such a situa-
tion, yet could find no such occasion. True he had known
her casually since the previous year when they had met
but they had never been in each other's company for more
than a few minutes at each time and he had never given
her any attention. He felt that he must have been to
blame in some way and yet could recall no occasion. He
was miserable over the situation, being of high ideals as
to his conduct with girls. He puzzled for some time over
the situation, as he sat at his desk when he had returned to
his room but try as he would to find wherein he was to
blame for the situation he could not. His heart was heavy
as he retired and for the first time in many weeks closed
his eyes without the picture of Lida Lauriston in his
mind.
Rage, confusion, humiliation and chagrin surged through
Louise Comstock's being as she ran from Bennet and
started back for her school. Rage because she had failed
to find in him the response she desired; chagrin to think
that he loved another girl when she loved him so, con-
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fusion at the thought of the position in which she had
placed herself, in his estimation and humiliation at the
thought that she must attend the reception, if at all, alone
having refused all other invitations hoping to be invited
by Bennet. Tears of blinding anger flowed down her
cheeks unheeded as she hurried along.
Self pity at her disappointment filled her for a time and
then anger returned. It was not anger, however, directed
against Bennet. They say Hell hath no fury like a woman
scorned but while this may be true Louise found no anger
in her heart at this moment against Bennet. Her anger
was against the fate that permitted another to have what
she sought, a man’s heart and love. She reached her room
she knew not how, without being observed by any of the
other girls and threw herself sobbingly on her bed where
she lay for several hours alternately crying softly and
groaning in anguish. Bitterness filled her being and for a
time she was overwhelmed with desire to die.
She refused to leave her room the following day, re-
maining all day without food and with the shades drawn,
her tears having been exhausted, her anguish having
brought upon her a raging headache. When the other
girls found she was ill each offered to remain with her and
to help in whatever way they could, to relieve her. All
their proffers were refused, however.
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CHAPTER IX
It was late in the afternoon when Lida heard of the
illness of her friend, and with the compassion of one whose
heart is filled with love she hurried to her friend’s room.
Love chastens some persons causing them to feel more
deeply the sufferings of others, and it has such an effect
on some of those in love that they feel more tenderly to—
ward all suffering. True love, by reflection, so radiates
itself that its effects are felt on those even not the direct
object of that love. It was so with Lida. She was so
completely in love herself that the intoxication of it ex-
panded to take in those about her. It was in this gentle,
expanding mood that she approached the door of Louise
Comstock’s room, turned the knob softly so as not to
disturb the girl if she was sleeping and tiptoed gently in
and toward the bed.
Menacing calmness had succeeded the spasms of weep-
ing and the paroxysms of grief that had racked the girl’s
body and mind for the past twenty-four hours and she lay,
quiet on her pillow, eyes half closed revolving in her mind
a new determination, the idea of which had come to her but
shortly before and had given her the relief her emotions
needed. Her face was still twisted as if from pain, thus
taking on a new aspect, new to the Louise Comstock her
companions had known till then. There was something
almost diabolic in the smile that saved her face from
distortion completely.
Lida approached the bed and was about to speak when


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the reclining girl raised herself on her pillow, resting on an
elbow, hair streaming over her shoulders and gown in
disarray, eyes dilated to fury dimensions while she pointed
to the door.
“Get out of my room — I hate you — I hate you,” she
almost hissed. “Go-go-go” – she repeated in frenzy.
“No, I won’t go, Louise, you poor dear. You're suffer-
ing.” Lida concluded the girl was out of her mind.
“Go-get out,” the reclining girl almost screamed. “I
don’t want to see you.”
“You poor dear. I won’t leave you. You're suffering.
Won’t you tell me what ails you and let me help you?”
Lida persisted pityingly.
“I want none of your help — I want none of you”
Louise still raged.
Lida wondered what had come of the girl. She was not
long in ignorance, however, for Louise continued.
“You’ve come here to tell me Truman Bennet is to take
you to the reception. Come here to gloat over me with
your conquest — come here to torment me. Get out — I
want nothing to do with you.”
Lida was about to speak but the girl interrupted.
“Don’t say a word. I know. He told me — You're
engaged — you’re engaged. Yes, you’re engaged but you’ll
never marry him. You’ll only hurt him. Your pride won’t
let you.”
Lida attempted to protest again but the girl raged on.
“You’ll never marry him, I say, when you know that
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you’re engaged to a man with Negro blood in him. He
is a Negro. Do you hear me? He's a Negro.”
Lida waited for no more. She bolted from the room
and left the girl screaming the words that burned into her
ears and into her heart. She knew not what to do. She
rushed to her room and locked the door, cast herself on
her bed, feeling as if the world was strangling her, smother-
ing her and stifling her. She gasped, clutched at her throat
and tossed. She wanted to cry — wanted to think, wanted
to scream but was powerless in the grip of what Louise
Comstock had said. One moment she thought the girl
must be mad, stark mad and the next doubt and the
possibility of her words being true sent panic into her soul.
She turned and faced the ceiling, staring wild-eyed, on
through the top of the room into space. As never before
she was wishing she had a mother to whom she could
turn and talk. There was nothing but despair for her.
Helpless black despair. What if the words of Louise
Comstock were true? What if there was blood of that de-
spised race in his veins. He surely did not look like one
with a trace of Negro blood in him. True he did look like
a foreigner. As she began to analyze the face and features
of Bennet she could detect no trace of Negro blood in him.
His swarthiness, however, gave her some cause for doubt.
She seemed to be caught in a tangling net of circumstances
that was gripping her more and more strongly as she be-
came weaker and weaker. She could not cry. The situa-
tion was too appalling for tears. What could she do? As
she pondered she pictured, almost for the first time since
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leaving home, Mrs. Cottman as she pronounced the curse
on the Lauriston family.
She decided to return to Louise's room and make sure
she had heard aright and that the girl was insane.
Thought of the possibility of the words being true, how-
ever, deterred her. She wrestled with the torturing situa-
tion alone. She was on the verge of insanity herself from
thinking over the words. Her lips became dry and
parched; her room stiffling to the point of suffocation.
The hours rushed by and she was still neither near relief
nor able to think herself free of the situation. Along
toward midnight the moon rose and along with this a slight
breeze began to stir. With a sudden gust of wind a shutter
at her window swung open and the beams of a soft night
– shining moon streamed into the room. As the light came
in she recalled the night in the fall when she had prayed
from that window to be given the man she loved. As she
lived through that scene again relief seemed to come to her
and tortures to vanish from her mind.
As they disappeared in their place came a resolution to
seek the facts as to Louise's statements from Bennet him-
self. She felt so sure her worries had been baseless, and
the words of her schoolmate those of a raving irresponsi-
ble madness, that at last sleep overcame her and she dozed
into fitful dreams. The sun was high in the morning sky
before she opened her eyes again. When she did, however,
her worries returned. Both her heart and head began to
pain intensely, maddeningly. The words of her school-
mate again burned themselves so hotly into her soul that
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she sickened at the thought. Doubt as to their truth and
fear that they were true surged through her in alternating
Waves.
When she recalled the so many persons of her own
district and section at home who were mulatto or lighter,
and who had a trace of Negro blood in them the words of
Louise seemed too painfully, torturingly true. She had
never given such things a thought before. What was she
to do now? She had given her pledged word as well as
her heart to this man. What if he was of Negro blood.
She felt she could not bear the thought. She, in whose
veins ran the proud blood of many of the historic families
of her state, blood of colonists, Revolutionary blood, and
the blood of the best families of the state.
She wept till she became tearless and intense burning
hot pains shot through her temples and eyes. All thought
became maddening. She felt she could no longer endure
the strain. She must know the truth. So engrossed was
she in her problem that she failed to hear the rapping at
her door when the maid came three times to arouse her
for her classes and so that the room could be tidied up
for the day. As noon approached at last the maid became
alarmed and notified Miss Gregory. The latter who had
also learned of the indisposition of Louise Comstock be-
came alarmed lest an epidemic was about to be discovered
in the school. This she dreaded and it was with much ap-
prehension that she hurried to Lida’s room.
When Miss Gregory reached the room, however, Lida
had returned to her former decision, which was to see
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Bennet and to learn the truth of the accusation from him.
Her whole body was in agony; head seeming to split and
eyes burning like coals of fire. Miss Gregory, quick
to sense the fact that Lida’s trouble was mental, in her
motherly way went over to the girl and placed an arm
about her waist as she tried to comfort her.
“Tell me your trouble, Dear, won’t you? I'll help you”
she urged.
“No, you can’t help me, I’m afraid. I must face this
alone.” Lida spoke with determination tinged with misgiv-
ing and a sense of hopelessness.
The sympathetic, motherly tone, however, brought tears
to the hot eyes of the girl again and she burst into a
paroxysm of weeping; Miss Gregory gently pulled the head
of the weeping girl to her shoulder, and the two sat on
the wide divan at the side of the room, the girl weeping
and sobbing heartbrokenly.
“Tell me what troubles you, Child; I’ll help you. —
Don't cry any more,” Miss Gregory pleaded in a motherly
way.
Lida only shook her head between sobs, however, feeling
that she could not confide her trouble to anyone. Her
storm of grief passed after a time, and sobs ceased to shake
her body as Miss Gregory’s calm voice soothed.
“I promised your father I would look after you like
a mother, and if you continue to cry your heart out in this
manner your father will blame me.”
At the mention of her father Lida again felt tears surge
to her eyes but bit her lip and fought them back. After
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swimming pool, adjoining the gymnasium had been board-
ed over and here and there little bowers had been erected
into which couples could be persuaded with but little effort,
between dances, where they could sit and chatter. The
wide veranda surrounding two sides of the building on the
outside, overlooking the track field had been turned into
little paradises also, and it was here that Bennet had
planned to have a few moments alone with Lida when she
arrived.
He was all expectancy and anticipation. It had become
known long ago about the college that he and Lida were
engaged and his classmates as well as underclassmen were
watching the romance with interest. Being one of the
committee of arrangements he was unable to escort Lida to
the dance but was on the watch for the taxicab that would
bring her and some of the other girls whose escorts were
also on the committee.
The worry with which Lida was troubled had made her
rather reticent and during the ride to the campus she was
silent while her companions chattered and laughed. Her
large eyes seemed to have become larger and more blue,
her face was pale with a radiance that was almost
evanescent. Bennet was on the steps of the gymnasium
waiting when the cab arrived and the girls were aided to
alight. As she stepped from the cab Lida’s heart seemed
as if it would choke her with its loud beating. In his
evening dress, as he rushed down the steps to meet her, he
seemed to her like a Roman deity, joy in her presence
radiating from his face, the delight of his love showing in
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
his eyes. Her own eyes drooped and for a moment her
face flushed as the call of her heart pushed back the evil
dreams that had been torturing her for the past few days.
She trembled and went weak for a moment, seeming about
to sink to her knees.
Bennet's touch revived her strength, however, and her
arm rested in his hand as he aided her up the steps and
piloted her to the reception room. A dozen eager youths
sought dances with her but all were refused though so
gently that none felt hurt. As she returned to the dance
hall Bennet noted the lines of worry and the darkly circled
eyes which drooped and did not meet his in the frank
comrady way that had been customary.
“What’s the trouble? he asked, gently trying to puzzle
out the attitude.
For reply she clung heavily to his arm and said:
“Take me away, Truman, please. I want to be alone—
with you — I want to ask you something.” The serious-
ness of her tone struck wonder to his soul. He led the
way into the open air to the balcony which he had chosen
as his particular trysting spot. As Lida saw the spot and
noted that it adjoined several similar ones, she whispered;
“Not there — not there. — I want to be alone with you,
where we can talk alone.”
Without a word they descended the stairs leading to the
track field and started to walk along the cinder path used
by the sprinters. The scene was dark except for the lights
shining from the briliantly lighted dance hall which they
had left and the electric lights from the street corners
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
some distance away, on corners of the quadrangle.
Having noted the seriousness of the girl in her whispered
request Truman waited for her to begin speaking and
wondered. Lida was at a loss how to begin the subject,
though the question seemed to be burning at the end of her
tongue. When they had nearly reached the corner of the
field in which the track for sprinters started she halted,
her arm still resting on that of her escort.
Truman stood facing her as she almost clung pitifully
to him. As they stood, suddenly her head drooped and
she began to sob softly. Her anguish communicated itself
to him.
“Lida, Mine, what’s troubling you,” he asked, a world
of tenderness in his voice.
For reply she sobbed all the harder. He pleaded to be
told her trouble. At last her grief seemed spent and she
looked up.
“Truman, I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you. I
trust you and have trusted you with my life. I—I—I—
don’t know what to do.” She burst into a fit of passionate
weeping again.
All the love of her heart seemed to go to this man and
she wanted him as she had wanted nothing else in the
world. Fear to lose him if she asked the question and he
became offended rivalled a fear that the words she wished
not to hear might be spoken.
“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed again.
“You’ll not hurt me dear, unless you persist in weeping
and not telling me what your trouble is. Nothing can hurt
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
me so long as I have your love. Tell me what the matter
is.”
For answer she reached up and gently caressed his
cheeks with both hands, much as a mother soothes the child
she loves. At last she mustered the courage she sought.
“Truman, – I am of a Southern family, proud of its
ancestry, which runs back for generations in its history
to the early colonists and further. You can have no un-
derstanding of the pride that runs through us.” He at-
tempted to interrupt her. “No,” she pleaded, “don’t inter-
rupt me. Hear me out then answer me one question I'll
ask.
“My family has been one of slave holders for genera-
tions back. Our lands have been tilled by slaves, our
homes have been built and cared for by slaves till the
Civil war. Since that time descendants of those slaves,
former slaves and their children have cared for me and
mine. As servants and slaves I have cared for them and
they for me. But the attitude has been that of superior
and inferior. It has been bred into us as children. We
knew and know nothing else.
“It is only just recently that I have come to realize that
times are changing — have changed. New conditions have
arisen and are arising. Despite the fact that I see these
changes, the teachings of generations, the pride of the
South grips me. I see former slaves and children of
former slaves acquiring property, education and mounting
to success yet I cannot go back of traditions.
“It is one of the boasts of my family that we were
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never unkind to our slaves, nor have we been unkind to
our tenants. We have been their patrons, even to those
who have risen in wealth and education beyond the station
of tenant and slave conditions. I was always aloof from
their condition. It did not touch me.” Here Lida paused
for a moment, her hands still resting on Bennet's should-
ers, her eyes looking up to his, a yearning in them.
“Only recently have I begun to live and to know life—
to know what life means. Just as I was beginning to learn
there comes a cloud and — and — I — I — I — I’m almost
lost.” Tears filled her eyes but she continued bravely.
“I’m almost lost. Just as I began to know what love is,
they tell me something to spoil it all. They say you have
slave blood in you. Tell me, Truman, is that so? Is it
true that you have colored blood in you?”
“If I say it’s so, what will you do?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Truman — I don’t know.” She clung
piteously to the lapel of his coat, awaiting his answer, her
soul tortured with anguish. There was a stabbing pain in
his heart, so sharp as to cause him to gasp for breath.
Bennet wrestled with himself as he had never before,
debating whether to speak truthfully and risk the loss of
her love for truth or to temporize. At last the dominant
character of his nature triumphed and he resolved to speak
the truth.
He caught the wrists of Lida’s hands as they clung to
the lapel of his coat, lifted his head, as his better nature
won and, gripping her wrists till they pained her, in the
tensity of his emotion, he told her:
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“Yes, I’m of that race. — There is Negro blood in my
veins. – Not slave blood, however — the blood of men is
in my veins and of my ancestors and parents. – There's
nothing shame-worthy in my blood. None of us are re-
sponsible for our birth. Our responsibility is the use we
make of life. I have been taught that color counts for
nothing. It is what we are. — Therefore I forget color.
Besides, of what color am I?”
Lida’s head drooped and she sobbed.
“Why couldn’t you have told me this before. Why
couldn’t I have learned it before? Oh, God, what shall I
do?”
“It never occurred to me that it would make any differ-
ence,” he defended. “I loved you and you loved me, of
what matter anything else? I gave no thought to ances-
try, either yours or mine. When we marry we don’t wed
ancestry, we wed not tradition, but one another.”
“I’m sorry,” was all she said. “Take me back, Tru-
man, please.”
As they neared the gymnasium, Bennet felt her body
shudder and turned to her tenderly. He held her arm
tightly to comfort her and was conscious there was no
shrinking away as he had half expected from this new
turn of events. When they reached the steps and started
to mount she turned, with:
“No-no–. Not now—I want to go home—Take me
home.”
Forgetful of her wraps in the reception room, she
turned toward the waiting line of taxicabs. Truman dis-
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patched one of the attendants for her cloak and hat, then
when these came, bundled her into the taxicab, started to
give directions, when she asked, pleadingly,
“Aren’t you going to take me home?”
He silently stepped into the cab with her and they
started for the school. The ways of women are past un-
derstanding. They are at once a source of torture and
delight. Truman realized this as he pondered over the
evening in the small hours of the morning when he had
left the girl and was reviewing the scenes through which
he had lived that night. When he was handing her out of
the cab at the door of Miss Gregory’s school, he was res-
cued for the moment from the despair into which his heart
was buried as Lida, without a word, put her arms about
his shoulders and kissed him with all her heart. Without
a word she ran lightly up the steps and was gone, before
he had time to recover from the surprise of the action.
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CHAPTER X
So bitter was his despair at the dashing of all his hopes
that he failed to analyze Lida's last act. All the world
suddenly seemed to have lost its brightness. Youth, so
prone to building castles of air, had been busy with Ben-
net’s ambitions and dreams during the past few months,
so busy that he had not seemed to be living on earth but
on some planet far away, peopled by but two persons.
One short half hour had spoiled all his dreams and filled
his heart with bitterness. Even her last kiss failed to
console him. He seemed to have lost interest in life it-
self. Instead of ordering the cabman to return him to
the dance, Bennet dismissed the man, without so much as
a word, after paying him his fee, then began to walk away
from the school.
Forgetting that he was one of the committee and his
presence was needed to aid with the entertainment, he
continued to walk past the campus and along the quiet
shadowy streets of the residence section as in a daze.
Without realizing what he was doing he turned back after
a time and walked toward the college, bitter thoughts
coursing through his mind; bitter at the fate that was his;
bitter at the loss of the girl he loved and bitter at condi-
tions which up to this time, he had never faced. He was
nurtured and reared in an environment which had never
before brought the subject of his race or nationality before
him except in a vague indefinite way.
There are some cities and towns in the United States
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where color is not heeded and men and families are
judged by their character, success and citizenship, because
the invidious propaganda of southern caste hopes had
not penetrated. It was in such a community that Ben-
net had been reared and schooled. Nor had his com-
panions at college given him cause to think seriously of
such matters.
His family, because of their stability and success finan-
cially had been rated one of the best in the little town of
Bremen where he had been schooled, and Bennet's life
had been uneventfully one of ordinary youthful progress.
His father was a college man, his mother a refined school
teacher and though they knew of the potentialities of
prejudices, had purposely hesitated to burden their chil-
dren with any such hampering outlook on life. They took
their places in the citizenship of the town, were accepted
at the rating on which they placed themselves, that of
ordinary citizens, and raised their children in such an at-
mosphere.
When it came time for Bennet to attend college his
school was selected and he matriculated along with two
others from his graduating class. He had never tried to
conceal anything about his origin. It simply did not oc-
cur to him that any explanation would ever be necessary.
Little did he dream that the most serious blow of his life
was to come to him from this cause.
He was awakened from his dolorous thoughts by the
strains of music from the dance orchestra as he had un-
consciously turned his footsteps toward the college again.
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At the sounds he remembered that he was one of the com-
mittee and began to hurry back to the hall. Suddenly he
realized that to return without Lida would call for ex-
planations and decided to continue to his room.
Here he threw himself into a Morris chair where gloomy
thoughts engulfed him. Dawn was lighting the eastern
sky in streaks, great beams of light flashing intermittently
brighter and brighter across the house and tree tops when
Bennet's thoughts returned to the present. Taxicab after
taxicab rolled and rumbled away from the gymnasium as
the last of the dancers departed. At last the chatter of
departing couples and their chaperones ended. He sat
at his window looking toward the East. As he sat the
great ball of fire that gives life to daylight and its hopes
climbed the horizon and pierced his eyes. The whole sky
was burnished crimson. Bennet noted none of these
things, however, his entire body was numbed and his mind
in a daze.
Great calamities sometimes affect persons in that man-
ner. They are robbed of their senses, overwhelmed at the
immensity of the weight seeming to crush them. Bennet
seemed to be affected in this manner. He gave no heed to
his surroundings, till a pair of pigeons alighted on the
window sill in front of him. The persistent efforts of the
male to win the attention of his mate, the struttings, coo-
ings, and other antics compelled attention. Just when
the male pranced in front of the mate to begin billing the
lady pigeon changed her mind and flew away. The sur-
prise of the bird left behind, the chagrin of defeat and the
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seeming loss of companionship anticipated, recalled Ben-
net back to the present with such a snap of realization
that he almost laughed outright at the bird.
“That’s the way of life, old bird,” he said. “Disap-
pointment steps in just before success.”
At the sound of his voice the remaining bird took wing.
Bennet's eyes followed till the pigeon was lost to view.
As he looked over the trees his thoughts turned to Lida.
The despondency spell was broken, however, and though
heart was still heavy, youth is so prone to quick reactions
that he began to wonder what she was doing and how she
had passed the night. He wondered if she was as miser-
able as he.
“She can’t be,” he mused. “What has she to lose?”
Little did he realize that Lida, too, was suffering as had
he. Torn between pride and the clamor of her heart she
was in a state bordering on insanity. She had not re-
tired but sat, the picture of desolation, by her window
weighing all the recent events of her life as they passed in
kaleidoscopic sequence before her. She was sitting thus,
toying with the ring Bennet had given her when they
plighted their lives to each other, when suddenly she felt
an arm steal about her waist and the gentle voice of Miss
Gregory sounded in her ear.
“Let me help you, dear. I know you are in deep trou-
ble. Tell me. Trouble that is shared soon flees. You need
not let a quarrel with Louise spoil your life, or temper.”
Intuitively Miss Gregory knew that no girlish quarrel
was the cause of this condition in her pupil. She took
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this indirect method of getting the girl to talk. Lida
turned slowly toward her, looked at her for several sec-
onds, sighed, and as she did so her lips began to tremble,
while her hand sought that of Miss Gregory as if for com-
fort.
“Miss Gregory,” Lida finally spoke. “Were you ever
in love?”
“Foolish child. Every woman, at some time in her life
has loved, whether successfully or not.” Miss Gregory
consoled philosophically.
“I mean, did you ever love, hard enough and strong
enough to give up everything for the one you loved.”
“Yes, I loved hard enough for all that. But I did not
have the courage to give up everything for love. That’s
why I'm at the head of this school.”
“Do you regret giving up your love?” Lida probed.
“Let me tell you, child,” Miss Gregory said with a sigh.
“No sacrifice can compensate for the loss of love to a
woman. And when once a woman loves, never does she
forget that love. If I had my life to live over again, if I
could recall the lover I once had, nothing would stop me
from going to and with him, even to the ends of the earth.”
“Nothing, Miss Gregory,” Lida asked sadly, pathos in
her voice.
“Nothing, dear.” Miss Gregory bent close to the girl.
“Nothing is worth so much to a human being as love. In
fact nothing in life whether of humans or animals is worth
more than love. It is love that rules the Universe. Love
that rules us. We rule animals best, not by force but by
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the love and kindness we show them. It is love, of a di-
vine kind that sways the world and keeps us from catas-
trophe after catastrophe, cataclysm after cataclysm. But
as for humans there is nothing so beautiful or so satisfying
to a woman as the love of a good man—her man.”
“But suppose, there are differences?” Lida persisted.
“There can and should be no differences. There were
differences in my case and these differences, mere shad-
ows, have caused me many a night of tears and regrets.
Family should not count, nor should religion.—And finan-
cial circumstances least of all. So long as tastes are in
harmony, desires and ambitions dovetail, nothing should
matter.”
“But, Miss Gregory, suppose there's difference in na-
tionality?”
“The question of love between two persons is a matter of
individuality, personality and nationality should not matter
any more than religion. God gave us the gift of love, or
rather breathed into us the spirit of love, which is him-
self, before he divided us into nations and races, or re-
ligions. I have learned to know this after bitter experi-
ences.”
Lida nestled closer to the elder woman as if the words
comforted. She still had some questions to ask for she
sighed pathetically. Miss Gregory drew the girl closer to
her as if to encourage her to talk. Before Lida could
frame another question, however, Miss Gregory continued
ruminatively:
“The trouble with most of us is we love not truly.”
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“Oh, Miss Gregory, how can you say that?” Lida asked.
“It is true,” was the defense. “We love form, social po-
sition, public approbation, grandeur, wealth, and many
things when we men and women should love character,
gentility, good breeding, soul, ideals, moral courage, beau-
ty of spirit in persons. I neglected to see these and have
been left a lonely aging woman.”
“But you have your school and the love of your girls.
You are dear to them and they must be to you,” Lida
offered.
“True, but what love can compensate a woman for the
love of a strong good man and children? No, my dear,
if you truly love a man and he loves you, follow your love
and your heart.”
“But, Miss Gregory, my case is so different. You don’t
understand. I—I—can’t tell you.” Lida burst into a fit
of weeping again.
Miss Gregory stroked the head that now lay in her lap.
As she stroked the girl’s head she soothed her with:
“You poor child. Don’t worry, it will all come out
right.” Suddenly Lida sat up, looked into the eyes of the
elder woman then asked:
“Miss Gregory, could you, -would you marry a man of
the colored race—a man of slave race, if you were of a
family that had owned slaves?”
Miss Gregory paled and almost swooned. “Oh, God,”
she said, “is that the trouble? You poor child, no wonder
you worry. What a calamity! What an awful calamity.”
she began to weep herself. Lida looked on in wonder-
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ment not knowing what to think. Miss Gregory, how-
ever, through her tears was picturing the calamity to her
school, and the scandal news of such an affair would create
among her pupils; she saw her school wrecked since par-
ents would no longer send their children to her place as a
select school for finishing. She saw her livelihood vanish-
ing, and panic seized her. Tears dried and horror gripped
her heart.
“You don’t mean that, dear girl.” She finally managed
to say. “What will your father say? What will every-
body say. Where did you meet him? Oh, forget him,
forget him, forget him. Such a thing is impossible! Such
a thing would only mean trouble. Don’t think of it.
Who is he? Tell me.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late now, Miss Gregory. I love
him,” Lida said simply.
“Who is he? Where did you meet him? How did it
happen?” A thousand questions rushed in panicky fash-
ion through the elder woman’s mind.
Lida looked at her adviser in amazement. “Why, you
just said nationality shouldn’t count. What did you
mean?”
“Not that, not that, not that,” Miss Gregory wailed.
“I never dreamed of that. You will ruin us all, ruin me,
ruin my school—Oh, God, what shall I do?”
“Then you didn’t mean what you were just saying?—
You were just trying to comfort me. All your fine words
were empty?—And I thought I had a friend,” she ended
pathetically.
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The elder woman was silent till the silence was be-
coming painful to the two. Lida essayed to speak again.
Miss Gregory, her head still bowed, the chin cupped in a
hand, her elbow on the arm of the Morris chair, was still
silent. The words she had spoken to the girl were still
repeating themselves in her mind. Did nothing matter?
She was asking herself. As she debated she recalled her
own broken romance of early life, how this had spoiled her
life and caused her heart to wither and dry till she opened
this school. Her romance had been broken because of
proud parents and the question of wealth but it had been
broken just the same. Now after sacrificing love for
wealth, her family had lost their wealth, her father and
mother had died, the former of grief over financial losses
and she had been left cheated out of both wealth and love.
Lida had risen and was standing at the window of her
room looking onto the street. As Miss Gregory thought
the lines deepened in her face till it became drawn and
somewhat hard and pale. The silence was tense. Finally
she sighed deeply. Lida turned and the teacher beckoned
the girl to her.
“Lida,” she said, “I am here as teacher, counsellor and
guide to my girls. What I said a little while ago I meant.
Nothing in life should outweigh love, if we are truly to be
happy. The question of whether we are to sacrifice love
for other things is a matter for each to decide. I know
human nature enough to say that women look on love and
marriage differently than do men. If a woman loves a
man she cares not who he is or what he is. If she decides
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that a man can make her happy and keep her happy, she
cares not who or what he is. Most of us, though, are
color cowards and public opinion cowards. We fear what
the other fellow will say; what the other girl will say.
“For a girl to marry a colored man requires heroic
courage, here in America. There are many such mar-
riages, it is true, but none between a girl of your standing
and rearing and one of that race. I don’t think the man
ought to ask the girl to make such a sacrifice.—”
“Oh, he hasn’t asked me,” Lida hastened to defend.
Miss Gregory waved her hand impatiently at the inter-
ruption.
“For a girl of your standing to take such a step means
the sacrifice of home, family, friends, wealth; the causing
of bitterness, heartaches on the part of your family and
much doubt as to the success of the experiment. You
will be cut off entirely from your friends and associates
who will see only that you have thrown your life away;
you will be without companions except such as he, from
his choosing may bring to you and such an act can mean
only trouble and grief, for you. I have known some hap-
py marriages of the kind, and see no reason why such
unions should not be happy except that conditions in
America are not ripe for such. The world is too full of
prejudice. In some other country it might be successful.
It has been successful — It would be successful. The
question is, in your case, is he worth the worry and sacri-
fice to be entailed?
“I think not. I would advise, before your romance goes
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too far, that you forget it. When I spoke of forgetting, it
was before I was thinking of what the story of such an
alliance would mean for me and my school. I am getting
to be an old woman now, and this has been my dependence.
Therefore, you will understand and forgive me, for the
outburst, selfish as it was. For your own sake, Lida,
child—for your own sake I would advise you to forget
this romance. It is your first, and a girlish romance. It
will be easy to forget. There will come a greater love in
your life some day and you will look back on this romance
as a girlish dream and be glad you did not take the step
you contemplate.”
“Has that been your experience, Miss Gregory?” Lida
asked.
“Oh, no. But my case was different. I was in love
with a white man.”
“You loved, though, didn’t you?” Lida persisted.
“Yes.”
“You still love, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And that is true love, isn’t it? You didn’t care what
the man was, you just loved him?” Miss Gregory bowed
her head in assent. “Well, I have loved and do love. I
did not ask what manner of man it was I loved. I know
him to be a man and I love him. It is too late now to
talk forgetting. I’ll never forget him. How can I forget
what my heart wants as it has wanted nothing else in my
life. Besides he saved my life and I owe it to him. I
would go to the ends of the earth with him. What if he
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has colored blood in him, he also has white blood, and ex-
cept that, to me he stands out above all the men I have
known. He is no different from any other man.”
Miss Gregory now saw that it would be useless to argue
further with Lida but decided she would do what she
could to thwart any further intercourse with Lida and her
lover, even though as yet she had not learned the name
of the young man. She reasoned that the name would
be easy to secure when once her plans were made, since
she could get the information from some of the other girls
in the school. When she saw Lida becoming excited over
the subject she dismissed it with:
“Well, my dear, we'll talk things over again later.
You'll be excused from classes today, now get some sleep
and I’ll send a nurse to look after you, then perhaps, to-
night I'll come and talk it all over with you again.” With
that she kissed the girl and was gone.
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CHAPTER XI
As she passed from the room the weight of the world
seemed on her shoulders and her face bore lines of trag-
edy. She knew that to oppose her will to the will of a
young girl in love was but to aggravate and drive the girl
more quickly into the arms of her lover. Such is the
perverseness of young people; has been and always will
be. She decided that such a course would not do. Miss
Gregory decided that the best thing to do was to find out
who the young man was, try to prevail upon him to give
up the girl and that failing, to seek some other means of
breaking up the match. That there should be no match
she was determined. She would not allow her protege to
throw her life away. She had just reached her room and
fallen weakly into her study chair by the little table at
which she did most of her work when she had a sudden
inspiration. On the instant she touched the bell near the
base of the study lamp. A maid responded.
“Ask Miss Comstock to come to me immediately, if
possible, please.”
The maid departed and in a few minutes Louise Com-
stock stood wonderingly before the head of the school.
“Sit down, please, Miss Comstock. I wish to talk with
you. How’s your headache? Better, child?” she in-
quired.
“Yes, Miss Gregory, thank you.” Miss Comstock re-
plied.
“What made you ill, dear? You didn't attend the re-
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ception at the college the other night. That's unusual for
you. What was the trouble?”
Miss Gregory was watching the expression on the girl's
face keenly. She noted immediately upon asking the
question, the spasm of pain that swept over the counte-
nance, saw the eyelids flutter and droop and the lips
twitch nervously. She also thought she detected a tear.
Immediately she surmised the trouble and asked:
“Had a spat with your escort? she asked shrewdly.
“Too bad,” she continued kindly and philosophically. “I
hope the differences are all mended or soon will be.”
When Louise remained silent, Miss Gregory continued.
“I did not ask you here to hurt you. I want to know
something about a young man. What sort of a man is
Truman Bennet? The young man who rescued you and
Miss Lauriston?”
At mention of the name the girl looked up with a gasp
of surprise. She gazed at the elder woman intently as if
to read the reason of the question. Miss Gregory returned
the look and waited. For a moment Louise wondered
whether to speak truly or not. Finally she seemed to de-
tect a flicker of a friendly smile about Miss Gregory's lips
that invited confidence. Without a word she arose,
stepped over to the chair at which the teacher sat, rested
on the arm with her own arm about the shoulders of the
elder woman, then bent over and tenderly kissed Miss
Gregory’s forehead. With that she burst out, “Oh, Miss
Gregory, how did you know? How did you know?” Her
tone was joyful, believing that the older woman, whose
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duty it was to know all the secrets of her girls in some way,
divined the fact that Louise was in love with Truman
Bennet.
Miss Gregory, thinking of Lida, preferred to preserve si-
lence, and wait.
With a sigh of contentment and consolation at the
thought that she had a friend in whom she could confide,
Louise spoke tenderly and softly. There is no solace for
a troubled soul so welcomed as the ear of sympathetic
friend. It was the first time Louise had had opportunity
for unburdening her heart to anyone and she was glad of
the chance. With a voice softened almost to a whisper
by the emotion which moved her, she said:
“Truman Bennet, Miss Gregory, is—is—,” the girl hes-
itated, seeking words for describing him, while Miss Greg-
ory waited. Suddenly she burst out with, “Oh, Miss
Gregory, I can’t describe him. He's my ideal.”
Miss Gregory turned to look at the girl, saw the rapt
tenderness of her face, guessed at the emotions which
moved her and made a mental notation, then asked:
“What does he look like?”
“He’s tall, swarthy, like a Spaniard or a Moor, with
brown eyes.”
“Where does he come from? Who are his parents?”
“He’s in the graduating class at college—He's a senior.
From one of the little towns of the State. I don’t know
his family, except that they say they are—” Louise hesi-
tated as she remembered the nationality of Bennet. “He’s
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a perfect man and a gentleman, however,” she hastily
added as if in defense.
From the emotion detected in the girl at the beginning
of the conversation, Miss Gregory had expected a rap-
turous description of the young man. When she found
the girl loathed to speak of Bennet, and then only in terms
of quiet praise and defense, she realized that Louise, too,
entertained a deep emotion for Bennet. With this realiza-
tion she asked:
“Have you seen him often?”
“Yes, when at games and at other times the boys give.
He's very popular. I’ve never been in his company much.
He's the young man who saved me during the strike riot
last fall.”
“Oh, I see.” She turned to the girl with: “Would you
marry him?”
The two looked straight into each other's souls at the
question, Louise hesitated a moment, then dropped her
head as she answered.
“Yes, Miss Gregory. I would if he asked me. But he
won't—he won't.”
Miss Gregory arose, stroked the girl's head then walked
to her window and gazed to the street. “Maybe he will,”
she said — “Maybe he will. That is all dear.”
Louise, hesitated, still seated on the arm of the chair
from which Miss Gregory had risen. She wanted to speak
her heart but maidenly emotions prevented. Slowly she
left the room, half cheered, half disheartened, and full of
wonder.
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For some minutes after Louise had departed Miss Greg-
ory continued to gaze from the window down the street
far into the past to where the romance of her own life had
begun and ended. Despite the promptings of what she
considered her duty, the picture of a youth and girl cross-
ing a meadow in a rich coloring of spring sunset, smiling
happily at each other and planning the many things they
would do, now that they had pledged their lives and had
promised to love each other. She was the girl and the
youth a young man, son of humble parents whose few-
acre farm adjoined the country estate of her parents. The
picture of this romance conjured again from the past
pleaded with her in the case of Lida and Bennet. Stern
reality of the present, the duty she felt to her school, to
herself and to the father who had entrusted the girl to her
care and training, all argued against romance. The argu-
ment was too strong and romance lost. With tears in her
eyes, reminders of her own bitterness, she turned away
from the window determined upon a course of action.
She would interview Bennet and convince him of the fu-
tility of pursuing the course he was on.
While summoning a messenger she penned a polite note
asking “Would Mr. Truman Bennet be kind enough to
call at the office of Miss Gregory, of Miss Gregory's fin-
ishing school at 4.30 o'clock or as soon thereafter as was
convenient.”
With the note dispatched she sat at her desk to await
an answer. With a feeling that she was trespassing guilt-
ily where she had no right, she waited, wondering whether
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When the messenger reached his room with the note
from Miss Gregory, he seemed on the verge of insanity
from his suffering. At the first knocking at his door he
resolved not to answer. When the knocking was repeated,
determinedly, however, he shouted, petulantly, “Go away.
Get away from that door and don’t bother me.” He was
just about to hurl a handy caraffe of water against the door
to emphasize his desire to be left alone, when the voice of
the messenger called:
“Mr. Bennet—Mr. Bennet—I’ve got a note for you.”
“Who is it?” Bennet asked.
“Me,” came back ungrammatically. “It’s me, the mes-
senger boy.”
“What messenger boy. I don’t want any messenger
boy.”
“I’ve got a note from Miss Gregory’s school for Mr.
Bennet. Is that you?”
At mention of Miss Gregory’s school, Bennet leaped
from the couch on which he had been reclining. He
leaped so quickly as to jump out of the bedroom slippers
in which his feet were encased. He was across the room
in an instant with the door opened. In his pajamas and
dressing robe, with his hair dishevelled, and a white band-
age about his head he presented such a ghostly wild ap-
pearance that the boy was on the point of bolting. Ben-
net grabbed the missive from the outstretched hand, tore
the envelope open and read the formal scented note Miss
Gregory had sent him. In puzzlement over the signa-
ture he lifted his hand to his forehead and unconsciously
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pushed the bandage from his forehead, pressing his hand
there instead.
For a few seconds he failed to comprehend the note.
Visions of Lida came to him; fear that she was ill, or that
something had happened to her almost had him frantic.
Suddenly he recalled their parting and realized that this
could not be so when she had not the feeling for him that
he had for her. The boy waited patiently. Finally he
said:
“There's an answer. She said I was to wait for it.”
“Oh,” gasped Bennet. “Yes, yes—Oh, there's an an-
swer. — Tell her I’ll be there. Tell her I’ll — I’ll — be
there.”
With that he closed the door and began to prepare for
the visit. Youth quickly reacts against emotions and by
the time Bennet had finished a cold shower with a brisk
rubdown, his mood of gloom had almost left him and he
found his headache gone. He was once more looking
sanely at life and wondering what could be the meaning
of the invitation to call. His toilet was deliberate and
careful as was always his way. When he left his room,
his mates across the hall were so surprised at his immacu-
lateness of dress and his quick recovery from tormenting
illness that they believed he had suddenly gone insane and
watched him intently. Fear that, in his madness he
planned to harm himself, several of them followed down
the stairs and halfway across the campus, at a discreet
distance, however.
When he turned into Prospect Street and started in the
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direction of Miss Gregory's school, they decided he was
on his way to call on Lida and, with the wisdom of college
youth, concluded that Bennet's illness was due to a love
quarrel and that he was on the way to a peace conference.
For a few moments longer, after they had paused in their
pursuit, they gazed steadily at Bennet, watched his steady,
firm, though hurried stride, clapped each other on the
back as they chuckled, hooked feet, with hands resting
on shoulders, then did a one-foot dance.
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CHAPTER XII
Bennet was not long in reaching the school and was
ushered into the office. This was a large, high-ceiled
room with but little furniture save a rug in the center on
which was a wide flat-topped desk of heavy oak, an office
swivel chair behind it and a straight backed chair in front
and facing the office chair. There were one or two other
chairs at the sides. On the walls were reproductions of
ruins of the Parthenon at Rome, a front view of the
school from which several students looked, standing on
the steps, a landscape, and a trophy of some hunting ex-
pedition. He stood hat in hand, hesitating before seating
himself, when from an inner room opposite the entrance
door, Miss Gregory appeared, extending a hand and smil-
ing as she greeted him. Her nerves had been in such a
condition as she waited that she was still aflutter and de-
spite her efforts at self control she could feel her face al-
ternately flush and pale.
“Mr. Bennet, I’m glad you came. I see you got my
note.” Before he could frame a reply she turned, took
her seat and beckoned Bennet to the chair opposite the
desk, with: “Won’t you be seated, please.”
As he turned to the seat indicated, Miss Gregory be-
came self possessed enough to study Bennet. She noted
the frank open countenance; the confident poise, the clear
brown eyes, the firm chin, well chiseled lips, that indi-
cated kindness, the brown wavy hair falling back from the
high forehead and realized that he was just the sort of
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young man who would catch a girl’s fancy. She could
see, however, that he was unconscious of his attractive-
ness and power; that he was unassuming and modest by
his bearing. She almost decided not to go through with
what she planned. The lines of her face softened for an
instant and her grey eyes became pitying. This feeling of
pity recalled her to her task, however, and after hesitat-
ing, while Bennet waited, she sighed then began. The
grey eyes became cold.
“Mr. Bennet,” she said. “I have a very unpleasant
duty to perform.” She paused as if hoping Bennet would
say something. He remained quiet, however. “You know,
my school is very select. We cater to the most particular
families. We take pride in the care we take of our stu-
dents, the cultural training we give them and the standing
of the families patronizing us.
“You must realize how careful we have to be that our
girls are preserved from contact with others than those
of the social set to which they are accustomed. There are
those among my pupils whose ancestry dates back to fam-
ilies of the nobility of England; others who spring from
Colonial stock and others along whose family tree may be
traced generation after generation of distinguished citizens.
“I mention these things,” she continued, when, after a
pause, Bennet still chose to remain silent and to hear her
out, “to show how utterly out of place and unsuccessful
associations and marriages along the lines I have indi-
cated would be.
“Take yourself, for instance. Popular and well bred
IO/


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
though you are. For I have learned that you are one of
the most popular young men at college, you could not
hope to contract a marriage with one of my girls, however
friendly you might become with one of them.”
“Was it for this,” Bennet asked, calmly, “that you asked
me here?”
Miss Gregory’s face turned pink as she bowed her head
in acknowledgment. As he spoke, Bennet's mind flashed
to a paragraph of the Declaration of Independence, which
he had learned at school. “All men are endowed with cer-
tain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness.”
At her acquiescence, Bennet sat back in his chair as he
said:
“Miss Gregory, from a study of the Mayflower band's
history, the history of other colonists, and early settlers, it
would seem that there is much in the life of these that
might be left buried in the coffins of the past. There are
things in their lives of which present day descendants
don’t care to boast. To rattle the dry bones of ancestry
may not be the wisest act for some of us. So far as herit-
age is concerned, I can boast of as much as they. Per-
haps more. I have as good breeding behind me as the
best, my family may not be as wealthy but it certainly has
as good training as any in America. I have been as care-
fully and as well reared. So I don’t see how the things
you mention concern me.”
“Yes, my dear boy, but you don’t understand.”
“I understand enough to know that a lady has invited
IO8


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
me here to insult me. If that is good breeding, please ex-
cuse me.” With that he started to rise. Miss Gregory be-
gan to fear her mission would fail.
“Oh, be patient,” she exclaimed. “Hear me. You don’t
understand.
“You are different, don’t you know. All you say might
be true of any other race and nationality but yours.”
“Race? Nationality? Of what race and nationality am
I?”
“You are colored, are you not?”
“What do you say?”
“I? — I can’t say. I ask you.” She parried.
“I am of mixed blood. There is a strain of colored
blood in me. But I am much honored in the blood.
There is a strain of white blood in me, and I am much
honored in the blood, for both bloods are one. To have
the blood of a former slave in one's veins is not of itself a
disgrace. Many of our early settlers were slaves before
coming here or the descendants of slaves. They are none
the less men for that. Therefore I say it is of no matter
so long as I prove a man whether there be one strain or
many strains of blood coursing through my veins. It ill
becomes a woman and a lady, who prides herself in an-
cestry and good breeding to make an invited guest the butt
of insults. Besides, what does this interview mean? Why
was I asked here?”
In a last final effort, Miss Gregory took in a deep
breath, leaned across the desk and said: “You have as-
sumed,—dared to fall in love with one of my girls. She
Io9


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
in her innocence has taken a fancy to you. I asked you
here to show you the folly of such an affair; to appeal to
your judgment and reasoning, your regard for the girl;
your gallantry, to break away from any such affair.”
“Go back on my word, forsake my pledge and thereby
prove myself a cad?” Bennet exclaimed, thinking of Lida.
“You ask what will never be. I could never consider my-
self a man or square myself with my idea of manliness by
such an act. Besides, what would become of the girl?”
“Oh, I’ll look out for her. If you pass out of her life
she will soon forget you. Her’s is only a girlish infatua-
tion. Besides, you know she could never marry you even
though you had all the wealth and breeding in the world.
Your race is against you. The girl doesn’t love you. She
doesn’t know what love is.”
At these words, and remembering the talk on the cinder
path the night of the Promenade, Bennet began to feel
that perhaps the words of Miss Gregory were true. His
heart sank. He arose to end the interview. Miss Greg-
ory believing she had scored, stood also and as a bit of
parting advice, said:
“Miss Lauriston could never love you and is only car-
ried away for the moment with the newness of her life.
Forget her, my boy. Find some other girl and wed in
your own race and be happy.”
Bennet turned his eyes blazing with anger he could no
longer restrain. He towered like a righteous young god
before Miss Gregory who quailed.
“Miss Gregory, what you have said may be true. I
IIO


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
don’t believe it. Miss Lauriston is not a girl to love
lightly; nor is she a girl to pledge her word and go back
on it. Until she tells me of her own volition that she did
not mean what she said I’ll take her word for it. And
whether she does or not, my love is hers. It will always
be hers and all the powers of hell cannot prevent me from
loving her.”
With that he stalked from the room. Miss Gregory,
feeling that her mission had failed, sank back into her
chair, her head on her arm on the desk. Bennet, despite
his passion was more than half convinced that Miss Greg-
ory was right in saying that Lida did not love him, and
was passing down the hallway to the door, in a pall of
gloom when suddenly he heard the swish of a dress and
felt someone grasp his hand, pressing into it a bit of paper,
then closing it tightly again. He turned at the touch of
the hand but the act was so quick that whoever it was had
disappeared in a room at hand before he could catch more
than a glimpse of her. He was still thoroughly angry
when he reached the sidewalk.
He almost forgot the little slip of paper which he
clutched. Suddenly he paused, opened the paper and
read: “I love you, with all my heart. I love you. No
matter what happens. I love you and always will.
Lida.”
The effect was instantaneous. He lifted his head and
laughed with joy. To Miss Gregory, who was watching
his departure, the laughter was puzzling and mysterious.
She felt that she had argued in vain and was beaten.
III


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
mons came, curiosity to know what had brought him to
the school and where he had gone prompted her to go to
the head of the stairs. She was just in time to see him
being ushered into the office of Miss Gregory. At first
she was surprised but suddenly with the wise intuition
which her experiences were giving her she reasoned that
Miss Gregory must have summoned the young man with
the determination to break off their affair.
Indignation swelled her soul at the thought and she also
feared that Miss Gregory, in her determination, would of-
fer insult to Bennet. She was too well bred to do eaves-
dropping, though the temptation was strong. For a mo-
ment or so she was in a quandary what to do, then her
mind hit upon the plan of waiting till the interview was
over and assuring Bennet of her regard for him despite
what had been disclosed. It was due to this that Truman
found himself in possession of the note that so cheered
him.
Nothing so fills a man with daring as the knowledge
that love given is received and returned. It was this that
made cave men battle; it was for this that kingdoms have
been overturned; it was for this that histories have been
changed and remade; and it is but as God intended.
When we are filled with that divine spark, we humans, no
obstacle is too great to be overcome. Cowards become
heroes and criminals become saints.
With the words of the note burning themselves into
Bennet's heart and brain he trod air and walked with the
step of a Hercules capable of accomplishing any set num-
II3


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
that there was much trouble in store for her.
“Yet,” she decided, “his love is worth it all. We grow up
to meet, make and face our own circumstances. I have
my life to live and must live it. I’d rather live it with
love than without.”
With that conclusion, after sitting far into the night she
prepared for bed and retired, a happy smile on her face,
the reflection of happiness of heart.
Miss Gregory also was sitting up until late in the eve-
ning pondering over the events of the past few days and
particularly the interview she had with Bennet. She felt
she had made an impression on the young man as she
talked with him and also that she had won him over so
that it would be easy to break off any associations. When
Bennet, however, tossed his head back and laughed, the
act she had witnessed as he departed, she became puzzled
and felt less sure of herself and the success of her plan.
She was not to be outwitted, however, in her determina-
tion. Before she retired she had decided on her next
course. She would appeal to the faculty of the college to
impress upon Bennet the futility of his plan, the sad con-
sequences and they would be able to bring pressure to
bear that would have a sobering effect on the young man.
“I’ll prevent him from graduating, if he persists,” she
determined as she shook her head to emphasize the de-
termination. “I’ll let him know a thing or two. That
child must be saved. That’s all there is to it. She must
be saved. I’ll see the President tomorrow.”
With that action settled in her mind she retired.
II5


CHAPTER XIII
With Miss Gregory to make a decision was to act. It
was but living up to this characteristic the following
morning when, after having gotten her classes well started
she set off for the college administration building for the
purpose of laying the facts before the president and en-
listing his aid. Coming to the large, imposing, ivy cov-
ered structure which, with its atmosphere of quiet, gave
the impression of studiousness and culture, she stepped in-
to the reception room, sent her card to the President and
was shortly ushered in.
The President, a short, quickly nervous acting man,
whose rotundity of body gave one the impression of a city
alderman, accustomed to and enjoying the good things of
life, smiled and bounced to his feet as Miss Gregory came
into the room, his massive head with its heavy thatch of
just-turning grey hair nodded vigorously at the same time
that he smiled broadly. All he needed was the apron and
a butcher knife to have seemed the inn-keeper in some
old world village.
These two had had many meetings before for the pur-
pose of adjudicating differences and matters relating to
the students of one school or the other. It was in antici-
pation of some such trouble that Dr. Dennig greeted Miss
Gregory on this morning. Despite the fact that they had
met on many other occasions there never was an occasion
for such a meeting but that the genial President had tried
to grasp the hand of the head of the Girls’ school in a way
II6


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
to give the impression of affection for her. It was always
a flabby sort of grip that Miss Gregory, when she spoke of
the incident at all with her intimates, had described as
“clammy.”
As he stood, this morning, he reached for the hand
again, with:
“Why, good morning, Miss Gregory! How do you do?”
Miss Gregory failed to notice the extended hand or to
recognize the greeting except with a bow.
“To what am I indebted for this so early a visit on such
a spring morning? I hope it is an errand of love—a—a—a
personal errand, I mean.” Here he tried again to reach
the hand of the woman. Miss Gregory tightened her lips
and sat in the chair at the side of the desk. When she
still remained silent though smiling to conceal her dislike
of the man and his mannerisms, Dr. Dennig continued:
“I suppose some of my boys have been flirting again.
Or rather that your girls have been tempting my boys and
you come to blame them for being led on. You know, I
can’t blame my boys, when I’m so hard hit myself by the
—,” here he bowed again as best he could over the front
elevation of himself, “director of the school. I—”
Before he could continue, Miss Gregory interrupted
with:
“Dr. Dennig, don’t be a fool all your life. Remember
you’re head of this institution and conduct yourself ac-
cordingly. I have come to complain of one of your boys
and I want your help. I want the help of the entire fac-
ulty.”
117


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“Ah, is it as serious as that? That you deem it a fac-
ulty matter?”
“You’ll see how serious it is,” she snapped.
“I’m all attention then, proceed,” he directed.
“I have a southern young woman in my school, who
comes from a proud, very proud and distinguished fam-
ily. She and one of your students have fallen desperately
in love.”
“I don’t see that that is such a serious matter. Young
men and young women have fallen in love before, even as
you and I,_I beg pardon, even as I with you. That’s a
characteristic of youth, you know. So long as they ob-
serve the laws of society, what matters to us? They’ve
done so in other years here and I presume this will not be
an off year in the matter of announced engagements when
graduations take place. Why worry?”
“But, you don’t understand. This engagement is folly
—perfect folly, besides it will wreck a young girl’s life and
will wreck my school.”
“My dear Miss Gregory, have you not learned yet that
youth will brook no interference when it comes to its love
affairs. At least not in these modern days. In our day—”
“I beg pardon,” she interrupted.
“In my day,” Dr. Dennig corrected hastily, “parents
and guardians had much to say concerning the companions
of youth and choices for mates but times have changed.
We are in a new day. Young people have more freedom.
They take more freedom—demand more and when we old
fogies attempt to interfere its like trying to harness an un-
II8


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
broken Texas pony. Now my advice is to let this matter
severely alone.”
“But, you don’t understand. You don’t understand.”
“But I do understand. I understand you fear that this
match if consummated will wreck your school. Fie on
that. You fear needlessly. No love affair ever broke up
a school.”
“This one will—,” Miss Gregory persisted “and if you
don’t act, it will break yours up also.”
“Never.” Dr. Dennig shook his head pompously.
“Well, hear me out anyway then decide. This girl, I
say, is a southerner, with spirit of the south in her being.
She has fallen in love with a man of colored blood—fal-
len in love with Bennet—Truman Bennet.”
Dr. Dennig sat back in his chair without a word as if
stunned and gazed from the window across the campus
arched over by stately elms of generations growth. Thus
he sat for fully five minutes. Miss Gregory waited si-
lently, the fingers of his hands touching as in the attitude
of prayer. At the end of his meditations he turned to
Miss Gregory, with:
“What would you have me do?” he finally asked.
“Bennet is an estimable fellow, well liked, and would never
be taken for one with colored blood in him. He is manly,
too. I’ve watched him through his four years. Besides
he finishes next month—graduates. We can’t command
him to cease loving the girl, if she cares for him. We can’t
expel him for that. It seems as if you must work on the
II9


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
girl if you desire to break the match. That’s your play,
Miss Gregory.”
Miss Gregory stamped her foot as she said:
“Call a faculty meeting and have him before it. De-
mand that he cease his attentions or suffer the penalty of
not receiving his degree.”
“But he's earned his degree,” Dr. Dennig insisted.
“The faculty awards degrees. The faculty can with-
hold them for whatever purpose they see fit. It is within
your right. Put it to a vote and you will see the faculty
will bear me out,” Miss Gregory still argued.
There was another long pause while Dr. Dennig studied
the distant view across the campus. Finally he said, with
a deep intake of breath through his teeth:
“I’ll call the faculty meeting, if you’ll come before them,
state your case, make your own plea and then let them
vote.”
“I’ll come — surely — yes,” was the positive answer.
“But, I’ll make this stipulation,” Dr. Dennig persisted.
“Bennet shall have his chance also.”
“Is that necessary?” returned Miss Gregory with a feel-
ing of misgiving.
“It is. He has committed no crime—and I don’t be-
lieve the faculty will sustain you. — However, we’ll see.
I’m neutral,” added Dr. Dennig raising his hands to em-
phasize the words.
“I’ll vouch for the faculty.—Thank you, Dr. Dennig,”
Miss Gregory said with a positiveness she did not feel.
I2O


two parted at the door.
Miss Gregory was determined to see that she had her
way and set about to canvass the members of the faculty
with whom she was friendly, in effort to enlist them on
her side. Those she won over, she pledged to her support
without telling them what she wanted. “Just vote with
me and for me at the meeting when the subject comes up,”
was what she asked them.
All unmindful of the storm brewing about their heads,
conscious only of the fact that their love was mutual and
growing stronger, Bennet and Lida contrived to meet for
a few moments each day and filled up the remaining time
of their existence writing to and thinking of each other.
They lived only in the moment and their love, as is the
way of youth. They had decided, each to return to their
respective homes after school ended, inform their parents,
then if objections arose to meet at some to be appointed
place there to marry and start their wedded life. Bennet
had already secured a commission to travel for a large
business firm and it was planned to combine business with
their honeymoon abroad.
The day of the faculty meeting, due to the activity and
energy of Miss Gregory, found the session permeated with
subdued curiosity and an air of mysterious tensity. Neigh-
boring members viewed each other with wonderment, none
knowing just what to expect. Dr. Dennig was as mystify-
ing as possible, for instead of the usual smiling suavity of
greeting, and the joking banter with which he was accus-
I2 I


BY SANCTION OF LAW
Here Dr. Dennig stated the proposition that had been
put to him by Miss Gregory, detailing the story. When
he concluded he said:
“In order that you may judge and decide for yourselves
I have asked both Miss Gregory and the other principal
concerned to appear before you. I shall first call Miss
Gregory.”
With that he touched a bell at his elbow and Miss Greg-
ory entered.
“Miss Gregory,” Dr. Dennig continued, “I have laid
the matter before the faculty and will allow you to pre-
sent your case.”
Miss Gregory then stepped to the table and after fac-
ing the gathering for a second, said:
“Gentlemen, I’ll be brief and to the point. I am sorry
to do this but feel it is my duty and that you will feel it
your duty in the interest of all concerned to concur in
what I shall ask you.
“Miss Gregory’s school and this college have been neigh-
bors, and I might say friendly neighbors for years. The
pupils at my school and yours have formed many happy
friendships, most of which have been fortunate. I have
rejoiced in the close associations of my school and yours;
of my students and yours. The reputation of my school
has been built on its exclusiveness, the care exercised over
the pupils, the training given them and the culture they
absorb. Your college has been built on the success of
your teaching and the principles you teach and the type of
men you turn out. All that is admitted.
I23


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“There has arisen a rather unfortunate circumstance
which we all owe it to ourselves to amend at no matter
what sacrifice. I promise you that I shall exercise more
care in the future. One of my pupils whose family and
traditions bear me out in my action of opposition has un-
fortunately taken a fancy to one of your students whom
she cannot marry and should not be allowed to marry. I
don’t want drastic action unless all other efforts fail. I
have tried to dissuade the girl and have seemingly failed.
I have tried to dissuade the young man in question and
have failed. I appeal to you now, for aid. I would ask
you gentlemen to summon the young man, impress upon
him the enormity of the differences in his circumstances
and hers, and assure him that should he persist he will
not be allowed to graduate.”
“Who is this young man?” Dean Sandager asked. The
same question was on the tongue of several others.
“Truman Bennet.”
“Bennet — Bennet, Bennet — Why he's all right,” came
from several sections of the room at the same time as
professors recalled their contact with Bennet and his bear-
ing in college. Miss Gregory’s face flushed for a minute
at the seeming hopelessness of her task.
“Do you mean to say,” she asked, leaning slightly over
the table in her intensity, “that you don’t know who and
what he is, after four years spent with him? Don’t you
know that he is colored; that he has Negro blood in his
veins? He can’t be allowed to form an alliance with a
southern girl of breeding and refinement such as Lida
I24


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Lauriston. You cannot allow it! You must not allow it!
What will become of my school if such a thing happens?”
Her voice was now raised almost to a shrill in her excite-
ment. “This thing must not be.”
“Perish the thought!” “Never, never!” “The fool!
That's what comes of too much education!” “We’d lynch
him in the south for such a thought even!” This last
from one of the newer and younger members of the fac-
ulty who had come from one of the southern schools.
About the table could be heard the other exclamations
while some of the older heads and those who knew Bennet
best either remained silent or voiced half-hearted approval.
The young man who spoke of lynching, Donald Arm-
strong, became so excited he arose in his seat and shaking
his fist at the air, his face almost purple, exclaimed:
“The brute! I knew it! I knew it! I always knew it
would never do to educate “niggers.” We must preserve
the white race pure. I knew if we allowed them to be edu-
cated the next thing they would be wanting to marry our
daughters. I wouldn’t let him graduate. I’d flunk him.
I’d expel him for such uppishness. We know, in the south
how to handle such. We know how to keep them in their
places.”
For a few moments there was a general hubbub, with
everyone voicing opinions and trying to speak at once.
When noises lessened, Dean Sandager, his white hair
thrown back from his fine high serried forehead, stood,
stroked his patriarchal beard which covered his white
I25


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
mations. You should be the last to shout that shibboleth,
Son. The last to shout it.
“I suggest that before we do anything for which we
should entertain later regrets we have the young man him-
self before us. Hear his side of matter. I’m sure he’ll
give a good account of himself.”
Armstrong subsided and there were shouts and hand-
clappings of approval when Dean Sandager had finished.
As the latter seated himself, Dr. Dennig turned to him
with:
“I have already summoned the young man and he ought
to be here.” Another tap of the bell, a hurried message
and the door opened as Truman Bennet stepped before
the faculty.
Dean Sandager, his heart yearning like a father’s to the
young man, stood as Bennet entered. Dr. Dennig, the
president also rose. The others remained seated. Dean
Sandager stepped to Bennet's side and escorted him to the
table, the place where Miss Gregory had stood, she hav-
ing retired to one of the chairs against the wall. Before
Dean Sandager seated himself again he rested his hand on
Bennet's shoulders as if to impart courage for the ordeal.
Dr. Dennig lost no time in coming to the point. “Ben-
net,” he said, “You are faced with a very serious predica-
ment. You are summoned here to say whether or not
you shall be allowed to graduate with your class or be ex-
pelled from college. Upon your answer depends it whether
the faculty votes for the one or the other. You can save
yourself from trouble if you will here and before us all
127


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
give us your word that you'll not see Miss Lauriston any
more; that you will not communicate with her or in any
way seek to associate with her.
“I may also say that your further association with her
is distasteful to Miss Gregory, to some members of the
faculty and would be decidedly so to the young lady’s fam-
ily. In fact a persistence in your attitude will mean not
only a faculty vote but trouble, endless trouble for you
both. What have you to say?”
Bennet listened to the words then with one hand min-
isterially thrust into his bosom where the coat was un-
buttoned, with a voice so passion-spent that his words
came with almost percussive explosiveness spoke. There
was the agony of a tortured soul in every syllable, having
sensed immediately the import of his summons. As he
faced them with the confidence of youth, yet the gravity
of age, he said:
“Gentlemen of the Faculty:—As I read your faces, hear
your charges and study the gravity of your countenances
I am led to ask myself whether I’m among Christians or
heathens, leaders or slaves, friends or foes. I had thought
that during my four years here I was among friends.
“This that you propose to do, in fact already have done,
might easily be catalogued among the crimes of the ages.
You have set yourselves to the task of preventing the most
moral, the most human, most natural act of life, the per-
fectly cosmic mating of two souls.
“You threaten me with expulsion from your school.
Not only that. You seek to deprive me of something
I28


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
I’ve earned and paid for in cash and honest effort.
You may deny me certification of my accomplishment.
You cannot withdraw that which I have absorbed under
these old and stately elms and in these class rooms and
under the guardianship of those of you whose lives are
worthy of emulation.
“Therefore your proposal if carried out would fail of
accomplishment except as it branded you as hide-bound,
narrow and bigoted. Your action would but brand you as
inhuman, unchristian — unmoral. That I differ from you
in blood you may claim. Yet how false that claim. The
blood of all men is human. Complexion is external. There
is as royal blood in my veins as in yours — as in the best
of you. The blood of kings pulses from my heart; the
blood of the King of life and death; of God our King
courses through my veins. Wherein are you more royal
than I? How long is America to dwell in the gloom of
prejudice? How long are men of thought and leadership
to allow blind caste bigotry to shape our common desti-
nies?
“I want my diploma as a right fully earned; as a mat-
ter of justice; as a matter of law. I’ve earned it by study,
by expenditures, by loyalty. As for the halting of my
course; the turning aside from my purpose; repudiating
of my pledged word, first halt you the tides; reshape the
course of day through night; still the wheels of the Uni-
verse, yet only death shall rob me of my will to, -right to
love the one I love.—Unless it be the lady herself.
I29


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“This breast of mine knows what a gem she is.” He
waved his hand defiantly. “Keep your diploma, deny me,
if you will, the honor of standing with my classmates and
receiving certification in public at your hands. You can-
not deny me my right to love.”
I3o


manhood and character. I know no prejudices except that
based on personal dislike because a man’s heart is black
through lack of principle. The boy is right. As right as
God is right. If we do such an unOodly thing as is pro-
posed this institution will rot and crumble to decay, for it
will have proven false to every principle on which it is
built. It will belie every truth it has taught. And if we do
vote for such a thing I’ll quit my post for the lecture plat-
form and will tell the world what hypocrites we are.
“What have we to do with the personal affairs of one
who has broken no college rule? Do we want to brand
ourselves, as he says, as unchristian? I think not. I for
one will take part in no such action, and if it comes to a
vote I’ll vote no, though I vote alone.”
“Here too, here too, here too,” came from three or four
of the older men. Several of the younger professors and
instructors remained silent. Three or four, however,
among them Armstrong, cried: “I’ll quit before I’ll stand
for it. Yes, yes, yes.”
Dr. Dennig rapped for order. After securing silence he
said: “Well, Gentlemen, it is a sorry moment but I’ll put
the matter to a vote. I would say, however, before we un-
dertake it that whatever our action let us decide it to be
secret and not for the public.”
“If the board does right, I’ll agree, otherwise I won't.”
stated Dean Sandager. “I have lived right. According to
my belief in Christ and Christianity. I’ll die that way.
I32


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
...And I’ll never give in to foolish, narrow prejudice so un-
just as color prejudice is,” he added.
“Why the whole world is prejudiced against black men,”
shouted Armstrong. “Why blame prejudice on the South;
every section is prejudiced against him.”
“Yes, the world may be prejudiced but that doesn’t
make it right. And I deny that all the world is prejudiced.
To the shame of some Americans they have tried to make
it so — but not all — and it will never be so. God never
intended it to be so.”
“You northerners are prejudiced, just as we are,” re-
torted Professor Armstrong.
“Those who are, are honestly so, even though they have
been misled by your propaganda and lies. You of the
south are hypocrites.”
“You lie.”
Dean Sandager’s eyes blazed. “Young man,” he said,
“I’m old and can’t resent your insult in the only proper
way, therefore I’ll control myself. I say, however, I do
not lie and leave it to the fair minds of the remainder of
the board to say if I do.
“I say, southerners are hypocrites in their prejudice.
We of the north who are misled into evidences of preju-
dice have been honestly misled and blinded by propaganda
and false utterances of one kind or another or some low
passion has been persuaded. When we are thus misled
and form a prejudice we live up to that prejudice by
avoiding contact with the man or race against whom we
feel the prejudice. You of the south shout race inferiority,
I33


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
and prejudice and yet have all sorts of associations, legiti-
mate and illegitimate with those against whom you are
prejudiced.
“If I am prejudiced against a man I want nothing to do
with him; neither his service nor his presence. You of the
South shout prejudice but want to hold onto that against
which you are prejudiced; want to keep it near you; want
it to nurse you, feed you, support you, toil for you, create
your wealth, minister to your wants higher and lower.
Fie on such prejudice and fie on you Professor Armstrong
with your hypocritical protests. Why, all your south is
you owe to the Negro, even your education.”
Armstrong had arisen from his seat and was walking
menacingly toward the Dean by this time. Several of
the men sought to halt him. He swung them aside and
strode on. Dean Sandager stood like an indignant deity.
“Let him come,” he said. “Let him come. I can take
care of myself.” Armstrong was withered by the fire of
the old man’s eyes and halted when within a few feet of
the elder man. When he halted, Dean Sandager con-
tinued:
“Yes, Armstrong, you’re a hypocrite and a coward.”
The two men glared at each other for a minute. Ev-
eryone was breathless with pent up emotion. Even Dr.
Dennig seemed petrified into inaction. Finally he recov-
ered himself enough to rap excitedly with his fist on the
table for order. “Gentlemen, remember. Be dignified.
Be dignified.”
In order to prevent further clashing he hurriedly added:
I34


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“We’ll vote by secret ballot on the question. The secre-
tary will prepare the ballots.”
“Vote secretly,” exploded Dean Sandager. “Vote se–
cretly? My God. Quit ye like men! Quit ye like men!”
he urged, using the Biblical quotation he had often used
in exhorting his classes during lectures.
Despite his urging the secret ballots were prepared and
placed at each man's side. After a sufficient time had
been allowed for judgment, Dr. Dennig asked: “Has
everybody voted?” He was assured that they had and
ballots were collected, placed at his side. The secretary
counted them off. There were twenty-four men present
and twenty-four had voted. The secretary read off the
votes aloud.
They were: “Yes, yes, no, no, no, yes, no, yes, yes, yes,
yes, no,” the count was becoming agonizing. The secre-
tary still droned the count. No, no, no, no, no, no, yes,
yes, no, no, no, yes.” Audible sighs were heard all about
the table as the count ended. It was found that Bennet's
diploma would not be withheld.
“Thank God!” breathed Dean Sandager. “God is a Just
God and Right has won.”
“I resign,” shouted Armstrong. “Damned if I’ll stay at
any such college.”
“You were just a little ahead of me, young man. I
was about to ask for your resignation,” quietly offered Dr.
Dennig. Dean Sandager turned and grasped the Presi-
dent’s hand, shaking it warmly. There were tears of nerv-
ous joy in his eyes. He could not speak. Dr. Dennig,
I35


thank you for showing me the way.”
Dean Sandager shook his head. “No. It’s you. I never
doubted you, Dennig.”
The faculty meeting adjourned in confusion immediate-
ly. Dean Sandager and Dr. Dennig leaving the room to-
gether, others of the faculty departing in groups discussing
the affair and its result. Professor Armstrong was loud in
his denunciations of all who voted against him.
No one gave heed to him, however, as he walked from
the room grumbling: “I won’t stay with a lot of cowards
and weak sentimentalists. I’ll go where real white men
live.”
Despite the efforts of the faculty to keep the matter
secret, Professor Rumor, head of one of the most im–
portant departments of any college group, soon had the
story whispered about and discussed from various angles.
Members of Bennet's class, however much they knew of
the affair, liked him so well they never mentioned the sub-
ject in his presence.
Events moved rapidly toward commencement and the
attending functions. When Miss Gregory found that she
could not prevent Bennet and Lida meeting or communi-
cating, she was at her wit’s end. She hesitated to write
south to Lida’s father, fearing that such publicity would
follow the impetuous old southerner that her school would
be injured. She hoped that separation for the summer
would serve to cool the friendship. The more she thought
of this possibility the more she became convinced that this
136


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
would be the fact. How little she knew the strength of the
bond between the two or their natures!
Instead of thoughts of separation, these two, in their
moments of meeting, were planning how to continue their
communications and finally their plans for wedding. Each
resolved to return home at the end of their work and in-
form their parents.
“Do you think that wise,” Bennet asked, as they strolled
under the elms of the East side a few days before com-
mencement, happily reverting to the topic always upper-
most in their minds.
“It’s the only fair thing to do, dear,” Lida returned.
“Daddy may rave, for a time, but” (with the confidence
of youth) “I’ll make him see it my way. I know I will.”
“I don’t know, Blossom Girl,” Bennet replied, using
the pet name which always awakened tenderness in him
most deeply as he addressed her. She had always seemed
to him like some fresh blooming wood blossom, he ex-
plained when he first addressed her in that term. “Old
men are rather positive at times. And I’m afraid harm
will come to you. Why go south at all? Why not get
married and go to my home then go away as we had
planned, writing the news to your father.”
“That’s not a bit like you, Truman. It wouldn’t be fair.
And I want to be fair. I will be fair in all I do. I love
you with all my heart and always will but I love my father,
too. Remember he's been father and mother to me for a
long time. I’ll be as fair with him as I will always be with
you.”
I37


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“Bless your heart,” he breathed tenderly. “Have it
your way. I feel though, that we are in for trouble under
that plan.”
“Why let trouble bother us? You have my heart,” she
shyly answered.
“Well,” he yielded, “I’ll let you go but you must return
to me in a month or sooner. You know we sail on my
commission shortly after and I’m to take my best beloved
bride with me.”
“I’ll go home and see my folks then meet you and be
married. I’ll also tell my people of our plans.”
Under the elms they strolled arm in arm unmindful of
all else save themselves till the warning clock on the First
Meeting House told of the hour to retire.
“Oh, I didn’t know it was so late,” exclaimed Lida as
she counted the strokes of the midnight bell. Leaning
more heavily on Bennet’s arm, she indicated a wish to re-
turn and the two retraced their steps.
As they reached the steps of the school the two stood
facing each other. A young moon was shyly peeping,
through the heavy branches, on the stillness of the scene.
“God has richly blessed me. My heart is full. I’ll wade
through death itself for you, Little Girl.” There was that
vibration in his voice and such seriousness in his face that
Lida almost felt a pain of happiness in her heart.
“I like you best, when you say things like that,” she
breathed tenderly. “They seem so real and true. You
don’t know how happy you make me.” The great mother
impulse in the girl caused her to cling closer to Bennet
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
and to reach her hands up to his face and caress his cheeks.
“He has blessed me, too, Man of Mine.” She blushed
as she uttered the words and realized what she had un-
consciously said. The feeling in her heart had forced them
to her lips, the woman in her overcoming the maidenli-
ness. She was so confused she kissed him suddenly and
ran lightly up the steps and was gone.
Bennet watched her retreating form lift like a vision up
the steps, and stood waiting for her to turn and look at
him again. He stood so for a few moments and when she
failed to look back, bared his head, lifted his face to the
sky and said, fervently: “God grant that I shall be always
worthy of her — that I’ll always make her happy.”
He turned to leave, his soul still in the universe of his
love. Lida reached her room and looked from her win-
dow. He failed to turn but she blew him a kiss from the
tips of her fingers then sank by the window sill where tears
of sheer happiness filled her eyes.
Commencement day found the college yard filled with
hundreds of shouting, laughing, handshaking graduates of
the famous old school, all returned to do honors to their
alma mater and to renew friendships as well as to give ac-
counts of their activities since the previous gathering.
Campus was decorated as only college youth, with un-
limited imagination can decorate for their friends and rela-
tives on festive occasions. Fathers, mothers, sisters and
brothers, all proud of their individual candidate for degree
strolled about the grounds, meeting friends of other years
or renewing acquaintances formed since arrival.
I39


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
In their caps and gowns the candidates for degrees were
assembling under the guidance of their chief marshal and
aids. The scene was one of kaleidoscopic, ever changing
colorations. The band was discoursing lively tempting
music; here and there couples unable to resist the appeal
were swaying to the strains. Prominent among those
gathered were the parents and family of Bennet.
The father, a dignified, kindly-eyed man, with a smiling,
genial face, hair turned iron gray, walked erect, head lifted,
about the yard, his wife, a delightfully motherly soul on
his arm. Behind them or at their side, never still, flut-
tered a daughter, laughingly waving to acquaintances,
newly made or those of longer standing, a charming bit of
human vitality, a bit chic and yet wholesome. This was
certainly a marked family.
Mrs. Bennet was rather grave in her serenity and
seemed preoccupied with pride in the popularity of her
son, her eyes following him everywhere as he moved from
one group of friends to another. This was a proud mo–
ment for her as well.
As they walked about, Bennet hailed them in passing,
with:
“Hello, father. Having a good time?”
The elder man only smiled. Bennet lifted the serene
face of his mother and kissed her cheeks.
“Mother I’m happy today.” His happines showing in
his face.
“You ought to be, my son. This is a day I’ve long
prayed to come to you. Make the most of it.”
I4O


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“Yes, boy, it's your day,” the father added. “Don’t
mind us. We'll get along.”
“I’ve only one other wish, Truman,” Mrs. Bennet of.
fered in dignified tenderness.
“What’s that, mother?” he questioned as he placed an
arm about her waist.
“That is to see you happily married. When that comes
then I’ll be completely happy,” she replied looking stead-
fastly at him in her maternal way.
“I like that,” chimed in the sister. “Where do I fit in
this merry scheme. It seems not at all.” At this all
laughed, while the mother turned to her saying, “Your
time'll come soon enough. Soon enough.”
“Mother, I’m happy and I hope to be happily married
soon.”
The mother’s face clouded for a fleeting moment, then
she said, “Well, all I ask is that she is a good girl and that
you are well mated.”
“I’ll tell you all about her when we get home.”
“Got her all picked out?” laughed the sister, clapping
her hands. “Oh, how romantic. Won’t the wedding be
fun?” at the conjuring up of which she laughed again and
clapped her hands.
Before they could say more the band began to sound
assembly call for the parade to chapel for awarding of de-
grees. Slowly the procession marched across the campus
to the half-sad-march music heard from year to year. The
girls of Miss Gregory’s school had already been seated in
a special gallery of the chapel as invited guests. In this
I4 I


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
group was Lida, her eyes strained for the sight of but one,
her heart a-flutter.
This was her first attendance at such an affair and the
experience was thrilling. Her eyes sought Bennet and
once having located him she saw no one else during the
entire program. After the orations and the distribution
of the degrees the assembly was dismissed. Truman
sought Lida as the crowd passed out and laid the diploma,
so hardly won, in her hands. Without being noticed the
girl gracefully and with a feeling of tenderness that it be-
longed to him, raised it to her lips.
There was time for no more. Bennet was called to his
class for the return march to the campus and Lida rushed
to her room to depart for her home. It had been ar-
ranged for her to leave immediately, Miss Gregory wish-
ing to get her started for her southern home as quickly as
possible. It was only because Lida had asserted with posi-
tiveness that she would not go till after the commence-
ment exercises that Miss Gregory gave in to that extent.
She had wished the girl to leave before commencement
was over, in order to separate her as soon as possible from
her lover. Lida won her way, however, to the extent of
this compromise in plans made for her. All this had been
explained to Bennet the night before and was understood.
When Lida reached her room she carefully packed the
diploma in her trunk where it would be protected and with
time to say adieu to but few of the girls remaining, was
whirled away to catch the Federal express for the South.
I42


CHAPTER XV
Where all was festivity and lightness yesterday, today
there is solemnity, silence and gloom. This was true of the
campus at the university after graduation. Where one
day the lawns were alive with throbbing, laughing, happy
humanity, the next the place is deserted, students having
departed for their homes or summer activities, their par-
ents returned to their homes and the buildings closed.
In the midst of a scene like this an express team drove
up to one of the dormitories and with clatter and clutter,
the driver, with his helper, bundled trunks and bags into
his team. As the last piece of luggage was placed on the
team, Professor Armstrong stepped out of the building to
pay the driver and get his check.
At that moment Dr. Tansey turned a corner, coming
from the gymnasium where he had been winding up his
work for the year preparatory to departing also.
“Hello, Armstrong,” was his greeting. “Where’re you
bound? Looks as if,” nodding in the direction of the bag-
gage on the team, “you’re going on a long journey, as they
say.” This said with a laugh.
“Yes, it's a long journey. I don't intend to come back.
I’m going South where white men are white men and
stand by one another,” he vowed.
“Oh, bosh, can’t you forget that Bennet episode? How
some people nurse a grudge! The boy's all right. I know
him,” Dr. Tansey exclaimed impatiently.
“You’re another of those soft hearted sentimentalists.
I43


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
To hell with you,” Professor Armstrong exploded.
“Oh, don’t be a grouch. Have done with that bosh.
He's a man, and a whiter man than you, in many respects.
Here, we take them as we find them, white or black.”
“Well, I’m off. Got to catch a train.—Good-bye!” Pro-
fessor Armstrong ended the conversation by offering his
hand in farewell.
“Good-bye, old man. Hope you have a pleasant vaca-
tion and land somewhere suitable in the fall. If you
don’t,” with a sly teasing wink, you may come back here
and learn something. Good-bye. — Oh, by the way,” as
an after thought. “I may see you this summer. I’m go-
ing South shortly myself to study some features of yellow
fever contagions and typhoid. I’ll be making some ex-
periments and may run into you.”
“If you come, let me give you a tip. Leave your north-
ern ideas up here. Don’t bring any of your equality the
ories down there. Our people don’t stand for that. We’ve
got our ideas about how to handle the blacks. And we do
handle them. We won’t have anybody interfering. If
you remember that you’ll get along, otherwise you won’t.
—Look me up if you’re in my district.—Good-bye.”
With that he turned and was off, walking rapidly across
the yard toward the street leading to the station. Dr.
Tansey, with his characteristic whimsical smile playing
about his lips watched the retreating figure.
“Conceited, prejudiced ass! Poor fellow! He won’t ad-
mit the world moves,” he murmured. “He thinks because
his skin is white he's supreme and a black man’s dirt un-
I44


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
der his feet, even one with so little colored blood as Ben-
net—And the peculiar thing is that there are so many
like him. They want their way for themselves and ev-
erybody else. They can be brutes, coarse, inhuman ani-
mals and yet because they are white they are all right.
What bosh! What fallacyl And the funny part of it all
is that we, most of us, let them have their way.—Up-
hold them in it.—I suppose it’s because we dislike bother
and fuss. We had one big fuss,” he continued his mus-
ings, “over the same kind of question and I suppose want
to forget about it now. Just the same, they’re wrong and
we're wrong. We're to blame, too. We’ve been fed up on
a lot of propaganda about white supremacy — the white
man’s burden and a lot of other rot till we half believe the
stuff ourselves. That’s what’s the matter with us. – I
wonder how long that sort of thing will last? I wonder.
Well, I’ll see some of this race question myself this sum-
mer first hand, then I’ll know.”
Dr. Tansey was still following the departing figure of
Professor Armstrong as he soliloquized. He stood still
gazing in the direction in which Armstrong had now dis-
appeared after his soliloquy ceased, his mind ruminating
on the question. Suddenly his thoughts returned to the
present and he whirled and walked away from the college.
His mind was indistinctly filled with pictures of atrocities
and cruelties of which he had read as practiced in the
South.
I45


Back in the little town of Bremen, Bennet, with his
father, mother and sister, arrived without incident, after
the graduation exercises. The first few days of the return
were filled with social affairs, visitations and congratula-
tions on the part of the friends of the family for the young
man. There were letters from Lida, on her way home and
replies such as only two happy lovers, separated for a time
can write.
It was after the receipt of one of these one morning that
Bennet's face became serious and his attitude thoughtful.
While in this mood his father came upon him. Bennet
still held the letter in his hand and was looking off into
the distance.
“What's the matter, boy? — When will you marry the
girl? — Why don’t you tell us about her?” he asked with-
out giving the young man a chance to reply.
“That’s just what I was thinking about.—Telling you.”
He looked at his father.
“No better time. Who is she? — and what’s she like?”
The elder man asked.
Father and son had always been frank with each other,
a comradeship having been established between them from
the time Truman was a lad and preserved more closely
than is the case between most fathers and sons.
“Well, Dad. She's a wonder.”
“They all are at your time of life,” he answered philo-
I46


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
sophically. “It takes time and patience to prove that.
Still what’s she like?”
“She’s a southern girl, whose family can be traced back
generations and generations; to old Colonial days; to old
slavery days,” Bennet answered proudly.
“What! You don’t mean to say she’s a southern white
girl?”
“Yes.”
The elder man shook his head solemnly and sadly as he
exclaimed, “Poor boy! Poor boy! Impossible! Impossi-
ble l’”
What’s impossible about that?”
“Everything,” he exclaimed hopelessly. “Everything.
Forget it. Don’t think of such a thing. You're dooming
yourself. – You'll be throwing your life away. Don’t
think of it. I’ve brought you up — you and your sister—
in an atmosphere and midst environments where you
would not be brought into contact with such a thing. I
did this for your best. You don’t know what prejudice is.
You don’t know what you are planning for yourself.
“Forget it, Boy. Forget her. There are estimable girls
up here in this section who would make you an excellent
wife, and a charming daughter for me and your mother;
one that we could welcome into the family with pride and
with loving hearts. We can’t do that with this girl. Be-
sides, there are white girls of the colored race, fully as
charming, intelligent and beautiful as any white girl in the
south. You could be happy with one of them. You will
never be with this girl. Besides you will never marry her.
I47


BY SANCTION OF LAW
—Her parents will not allow it. No, Boy, forget her.
Does she know that you are of mixed blood?” he asked.
“Yes, she knows all. And that makes no difference to
her. It did at first but she loves me and I love her.”
The elder man bowed his head in his hands. “Forget
her, Boy. It will only mean pain and suffering for you
both otherwise.”
“No, Dad. I’ve given my word in pledge to her. And
she's given hers. I’ll not give her up as long as she holds
to her mind. Why Dad, I couldn't and be a man. I
won’t. That’s all. I won't.”
“Youth feeds at the breast of impatience,” exclaimed the
elder man half to himself. “It is only when time has dried
up the food sources that experience can gain a hearing.”
“You’re wrong, Father. Wise youth observes and stud-
ies the experiences of others then maps his chart accord-
ing to the drift of the winds of his own life and the
strength of his ship — his soul.”
“I’ll tell you, Boy. In setting your course as you’ve
planned you’re running into the trade winds of prejudice
and proscription. You’re bringing harm to the girl you
say you love; alienating her from her own poeple — her
own family; her outlook on life has been different than
yours; bringing her into a life of loneliness. She will be
deserted by her own people.”
“Won't you and mother accept her?”
“Yes, Boy. We'll accept any good girl whom you bring
to us. We are not prejudiced. You’re asking a mighty big
sacrifice of her when you ask her to quit her own people.”
I48


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
and I can’t command you, else I’d forbid it. I predict for
you, though, if you persist in your fool-hardy act, misery
and failure. — And these things in you, my first born,
will bring an old man’s heart in sorrow to the grave.
“Oh, Truman! Truman, my first born, my pride!
Don’t wrench my heartstrings till I fall into my grave a
broken man. Don’t do this monstrously rash thing. Give
up this foolish love. Be a man and master yourself.”
“Yes, but of honor? What about my honor — my
pledged and sacred word?” he asked.
“There are rights above such honor as you cling to,”
stated the father. “There is no honor in rashness that
would wreck many lives.”
“What about breaking the heart of the girl who's trust-
ed you with her love — her happiness?” Bennet asked.
“Her love, with her southern slave-holding background
can’t but be passion; her happiness in you but visionary.
There is no real love there. When passion dies her love
will die,” the elder man prophesied.
“Never. Her heart’s too simple and honest. I have
her happiness in my keeping. Let her fail me if she will.
I’ll not fail her nor myself. Not if all hell prevails,” Tru-
man protested. “When you speak as you do I can’t
believe you ever knew love. You married for convenience
and have lived a sham life; outwardly honorable but in-
wardly hollow.”
“Tut-tut-tut, Boy. Let’s not quarrel. Hasty words on-
ly mean sorrow and regret,” the elder Bennet ended,
walking away.
ISO


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Father and son held no further talks on the subject,
each seeming to avoid the topic. At each mail, however,
when letters would be received by Truman, in a hand-
writing all had come to know, the elder Bennet would
watch his son reading eagerly the written words, see the
lighting on the face and the happiness for the remainder of
the day and shake his head sadly. Mrs. Bennet, though
told by her husband, gave no outward appearance of
knowing the state of affairs. She sensed in her woman’s
way, however, the depth of her son's regard for the girl
and pitied him at the same time that she hoped the girl
would prove as loyal as she knew Truman would be.
Mrs. Bennet's motherly understanding was shown a few
days following when there was no letter. As she passed his
chair at the breakfast table she allowed her hand to rest
for a moment on his shoulder. Truman was gloom while
his sister teased him about the girl and the letter that
failed to appear. When on the third morning no mail was
received, the elder man was tempted to utter an “I told
you so,” but a warning look from the mother prevented
him. The sister also out of consideration began to dislike
the girl who did not write to her brother when he had been
expecting and had been receiving daily communications.
Days lengthened into more than a week when on the
morning of the tenth day when no letter had been re-
ceived in answer to repeated telegraph messages, Truman
announced, at breakfast, that he was going away. The
elder Bennet’s head bowed, as he muttered, “I know it.”
I5 I


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Mrs. Bennet's eyes filled with tears though she gave no
evidence of her feeling.
Bennet’s packing was hastily done and when ready to
leave he kissed his mother. As he did so, she murmured,
in his ear, “God keep you from harm, my boy — and
bring her back to us.” For response, Truman gave her a
bear hug and a resounding kiss. When he parted with his
father at the station just as the train was pulling out, the
two gripped hands in man-to-man fashion, the youth look-
ing steadily and honestly into the eyes of his elder.
“Whatever happens, Boy, remember we are yours.
Play fair. Take care of yourself and come back as soon as
possible. You’re going into the devil’s own country. God
keep you safely.”
I52


CHAPTER XVII
Dr. Tansey, when he returned to his office after the en-
counter with Professor Armstrong began to make ready
his own affairs preparatory to departing for the south on
his mission of science, and his study of malignant forms
of yellow fever and typhoid. When all his affairs were
placed in order he boarded a train for New York, from
which place he set out by boat for Charleston, South
Carolina, his first stopping place.
His ship had been out two days before he was able to
be about the deck, owing to his inability to withstand the
effects of seasickness. No matter how many times he had
taken trips he always was seasick the first two days out.
Because of this illness he failed to learn that another pas-
senger, with whom he was acquainted was also taking the
trip. This was Truman Bennet.
In mid afternoon on the third day out, Dr. Tansey felt
able to forsake his stateroom for a little time on deck and
climbed the saloon stairs. The effort was a struggle to
him, in his weakened state but he finally made the dis-
tance and was resting his hands on the railpost to steady
himself as well as to find a location unengaged when he
almost lost the strength of his legs and sank back down the
stairs. He gazed across the deck straight into the eyes of
Truman Bennet. Bennet could not believe his eyes for a
moment; when he realized it was the Doctor, he sprang
across the deck in two leaps and was just in time to save
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the physician from falling. The latter’s face had gone pale
with surprise and pleasure.
“Dr. Tansey” Bennet exclaimed wringing the hand he
had clasped.
“Well, Bennet,” the other returned. “You’re the last
man I expected to see on this boat. What are you going
south for?”
“I’ll ask the same of you, Doctor? Where are you
bound? Jove, this is a treat.”
“I’m bound on a scientific mission. I suppose you’ll
say the same thing. I’ll bet I can guess, though,” as an
after thought. “I thought you were cured of that blow
on the head you got last fall. Too bad! Too bad! My
surgery is getting way off. I thought I had you cured.”
Both men laughed happily, as Truman piloted the other
to a seat at his side of the ship. After Bennet had seen
that the doctor was comfortable he also took a seat.
“Have a cigar,” said Dr. Tansey, tendering Bennet the
case as he took one himself.
“No, thank you. Don’t smoke.”
“This is off-season now. You won’t be breaking train-
ing by smoking. I won't tell the coach,” chafed the doctor.
“You know I never smoked,” Bennet smiled back.
“No, I don’t know anything about it. Put it this way.
I never caught you smoking. How’s that.”
The two men laughed heartily again. Doctor Tansy
was happy as a boy. He was very fond of Bennet, in his
own way.
“Where's the young woman? I didn’t know she was in
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
the South. What's she doing down here this time of year?”
“Somewhere up in the Palmetto state, I don’t know
where. — Have the address. – Going to find out.”
Dr. Tansey looked at the young man shrewdly — studi-
ously, for some minutes then asked, “Does she know who
you are?”
“Foolish question. Do you think I’d deceive the girl I
loved?”
“I beg pardon, Old Boy. I wanted to be sure.—You're
either a fool or you’ve got the nerve of ten brass monkeys.
— No fool like a young lover,” added the doctor, para-
phrasing the old saw. “Know anybody down here?”
“Not a soul that I’m aware of.”
“Well, you’ll have to be very careful. These people are
very funny. They’re very touchy on the race question.
So, talk but little. Mind your own business.” — After a
considerable pause.—“What you need is a guardian angel
— or a keeper. — You'll get along, I guess.”
“Oh, I realize the dangers. I got an idea from Professor
Armstrong,” vouchsafed Bennet.
“By the way, he's down here somewhere,” continued
Dr. Tansey. “He’s rabid on the subject. But he's as
mild as a June day compared with some. I don’t believe
I’m going to get along down here. So have a care. Have
a care, son. Where’re you stopping, when you get to
Charleston?”
“Don’t know. Some hotel.”
“Humph! — Better come with me — till you start in-
land.”
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“All right, Doctor. Thanks, very many thanks.”
The remainder of the voyage passed very pleasantly.
Doctor Tansey recovered his sea legs rapidly and before
the trip ended was debating the Negro question with the
best of them on board. He defended the black man so
vehemently that the captain of the ship deemed it wise to
caution him, when they were just about to enter Charles-
ton Harbor. Dr. Tansey and Bennet were, as was their
habit, standing far up in the bow of the ship when the
Captain saw them and leaned out of the pilot house to
shout:
“Hey, Doctor!”
Dr. Tansey and Bennet whirled.
“Come up here,” he beckoned. The two men lost no
time in accepting the invitation. When they stepped into
the wheelhouse, the Captain gave the wheel to another
officer and turned: “You men are from up North. I’ve
heard some of your talk and I want to caution you for
your own good. Better let that subject alone down here.
It’s a southern question and we’re — they’re settling it in
their own way.”
“Why do you people insist on having your own way
with the question?” asked Dr. Tansey.
“Because we know the black man best. We love the
black man — in his place.”
“Under your feet, I suppose?”
“Well, pretty much so. You’ve got to keep him down
in his place. This is a white man’s country. This is a
white man’s civilization.”
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“Are you afraid to let anybody else have a little bit of
it? The white man is supposed to be fair. I always hear
the boast about Anglo-Saxon fair play. I see but little of
it, though, as I travel about. I’d like to see more. Why
do you people in the South insist on foisting your beliefs
upon everybody else? Don’t you give anybody else credit
for knowing anything besides yourself. Are you afraid of
your own laws — of your own selves. You act as if you
were not sure of your own ground.”
“No sir. — No sir. Not where the Negro comes into the
discussion. They’re no good. Never were any good —
and never will be any good.”
“If I remember history at all, they were very good when
the plantation owners marched away to fight to keep them
slaves, and they remained behind caring for the families
and farms of those who were fighting to hold them in bond-
age. — It strikes me that is a pretty good sort of a man to
cling to. Anglo-Saxon civilization can’t show anything
any better than that. Besides, though you may not admit
it, the Negro is the bone and sinew of your financial and
economic structure. The South lives off the Negro.
“It strikes me that they are pretty good when they are
the backbone of your country economically. They may be
lazy and shiftless but it seems to me they do all the work;
at least all the real work. Of course, your white collar
work — work in the shade; where the hours are short and
the labor nil you people shine. I’ll bet there'd be an aw–
ful howl sent to heaven, if by any chance, there should be
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
a sudden exodus of black men from this section. Why
your industry would be paralyzed.
“You tell that stuff to the Marines,” Dr. Tansey con-
tinued. “I think the white race all over the world has
been too easily gulled by you folks and your doctrines.
Most of the blacks I’ve come into contact with have been
at least on par with the whites, and better than many of
those we welcome from European countries. No, Cap-
tain. Thank you for your advice. Prudently, it is well
given, but just the same it’s the white race that’s largely
at fault, and it’s time the white race got onto its job. You
people are blessed and don’t know it.”
“Just the same, you’d better mind your own business
and keep mum on the Negro question, if you want to stay
here.”
He took the wheel again, as if to end the conversation.
Dr. Tansey and Bennet left the pilot house for the deck
below and stood at the rail as the ship passed Fort Sum-
ter, lapped by the muddy waters of the harbor. As the
ship rounded up to her pier, from the wharves of cotton
bales, barrels of resin, and other products waiting to be
shipped North, there rose, seemingly a small battalion of
Negro stevedores and roustabouts, shouting, laughing,
singing and dancing, waiting with eager hands to grasp the
hawsers that would moor the ship so they could begin their
task of unloading and reloading the vessel. At the pas-
senger gangplank stood a dozen or more boys of all shades,
hands covered with white gloves, ready to step aboard ship
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and assist the passengers in debarking and departing for
their various destinations.
Dr. Tansey and Bennet stood at the rail watching the
scene. Bennet, unaccustomed to the sight of so many
black faces was awestruck. Dr. Tansey had experienced
scenes of animation such as this many times in his travels.
After the two had stood in silence for a time, allowing
Bennet to absorb the variety of the life, Dr. Tansey turned
to him with:
“There, Bennet, is your first rub with and against the
Negro problem as the South faces it. Just watch those
fellows unload ship. Yet the Captain calls them no good,
lazy and shiftless. Could you get a white man to work
like that in this climate? I guess not.”
I59


CHAPTER XVII
“Why there are more black than white people here!”
exclaimed Bennet as they were shown to their rooms in
the Great Southern Hotel, after their ride from the ship.
“Not quite, but almost,” answered Dr. Tansey.
“And they seem to be minding their own affairs.”
“Yes,” was the laconic reply.
Both men were standing at the window of their hotel
watching the panorama passing before them on the street
below. There were well dressed colored men passing along
the street; well dressed white men and women; some
ragamuffins, pedlars, persons in automobiles with Negro
chauffeurs, and tip carts drawn by mules and driven by
black men, winding in and out in front of automobiles and
street cars. Except for the number of black, brown, yel-
low and white faces, the scene might easily have been one
of any large bustling northern city.
As the two men stood looking, suddenly a street car
came along to the intersection of the street just as a dump-
cart driven by a tall rather aged Negro and drawn by a
mule, was crossing. The cart was in the middle of the
street before the street car reached it. Dr. Tansey and
Bennet looked for the car to halt to let the tip cart pass.
What was their surprise and shock to see the motorman
clang his bell and drive the car straight into the tip cart.
There was a resounding crash of breaking wood, an un-
earthly scream from the driver — and a thud of mule and
man to the ground where the car shoved the mass along
16o


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
for ten or fifteen feet crunching wood, bones and flesh in
one mass. Bennet turned sick. Dr. Tansey closed his
eyes at the sight, then opened them again with “My God!”
on his lips. As they looked the motorman dismounted
from his vestibule, after backing his car off the mass, went
to the scene, looked at the mule, then into the mutilated
face of the driver. After discovering that he was nobody
known to him he threw the hat carelessly down on the
face again, mounted his car, while the conductor with the
aid of bystanders, tried to pull the mass off the track.
Failing in this way they left the mule in the street, backed
the car to a turnout and continued on their way.
As they started away, Dr. Tansey and Bennet made
for the door. Dr. Tansey turned to the young man, and
almost shouted the command: “Stay here.” He rushed to
the street, muttering, “I never saw anything so deliberate.
The brute. The brute.”
When he reached the spot, he could hear the exclama-
tion: “Too bad. Too bad.” He thought they were pity-
ing the driver, till one of the men added: “Yes, that mule's
worth one hundred and forty dollars.”
“Mules be damned,” exclaimed Dr. Tansey. “What
about the man!”
“Him? — Humph. You can get a nigger anywhere.
Mules are valuable.”
Dr. Tansey, his being burning with indignation bent
over the prostrate form to see if the man was alive. As
he knelt, from the crowd came the words: “Who’s he?
Who's he. Some stranger. Some nigger-loving stranger?”
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Dr. Tansey stood erect, his eyes blazing, “You’re a lot
of brutes,” he exclaimed. “Cold blooded brutes.” There
were menacing sounds in the crowd but no action started.
Soon the animal ambulance arrived and man and beast
were piled into the same vehicle to be hauled away. The
foreman of the street cleaning department in that district
arrived and ordered the spot sanded. Dr. Tansey went
back to his room, muttering, “This is humanity. This is
civilization. No attempt — not even the semblance of an
attempt to arrest the man for cold blooded murder.”
Dr. Tansey was still laboring under tense excitement
when he returned to his room. Bennet was pacing the
floor and declaiming at the brutality of what he had seen.
“Why did you want me to remain here, Doctor?”
“Shut up and don’t bother me,” Dr. Tansey exclaimed
petulantly in his excitement.
“But I can take care of myself. I’m no child,” Bennet
said.
“No, but you’re a hot-blooded fool youth. — I don’t
want to see you die yet, — before you learn a few things.
The best thing you can do is to keep quiet. You're in a
strange land; among strange people. Hold your head —
and your tongue, till you get your bearing. Till you’re ac-
climated.” With that he sank into a chair, his attitude the
picture of gloom.
The spontaneity of his nature, however, refused to al-
low him to remain in such a state for long. The picture
began to fade from his memory. Bennet had returned to
the window, and was gazing on the passing show, intently
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interested in the new faces of the new show unfolding be-
fore him. Finally Dr. Tansey left his chair and stood at
his side.
“What a wonderful land if it was only human,” he
commented. “And this is an historic old city, too. Full
of traditions. Full of memories — full of experiences from
which could be woven many a romantic story that would
thrill. All forgotten — All lost save to a few of the old
families who hold aloof from the new, the modern, the
bizarre and the cruel.
“Off there,” he continued, pointing to the right across
the tops of mercantile and other buildings, “stands St.
Michael's Church, proud of its history, its traditions and
its associations, venerable and venerated. Off here,” in-
dicating another direction, “is St. Phillip's, towering 200
feet in the air, its beacon shining at night, a welcome to
all while at its foot, for the visitors, lie the remains of such
men as Calhoun, Gadsden, Rutledge and Pickens. All
men who have made the name of Charleston to stand out
as the Athens of the South.
“And yet, with all its associations, and history of which
to be proud, we can witness such a scene as we saw a little
while ago. I wonder what the old Huguenots and Acadi-
ans would say if they could come back and see the intol-
erance, the bigotry and the hatred of these days! Bennet,
the world’s wrong! At least this part of it. The quicker
you and I get out of here the better.”
“I’d like to see more of this town before I go back
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
home. Somehow I like the atmosphere of the place,” Ben-
net offered with a wave of his hand.
“Well, I’m going to get out of here and up into the
swamps where I can do my work and get away as quickly
as possible. I advise you to lose no time in doing the
same.”
“Where and when do you plan to start?” Bennet asked.
“Armstrong told me that up near his country, along the
Edisto River I’d find plenty of material for investigation
and I guess I’ll start for there as soon as possible.”
“My nearest post office is Orangeburg. I go out into
the country from there,” said Bennet.
“Good, we'll go along together as far as there. Let’s
see. Orangeburg’s on the way to Columbia,” Dr. Tansey
was studying his map intently. “You turn off at Branch-
ville to the north from the main road leading to Augusta.
It will be nice riding through rather picturesque country.
We’ll start in the morning, eh, Bennet?”
“All right. Meantime I’m going to look around this old
town for a while.”
“Better not go far, and let nothing disturb you.
“You know, not all southerners are barbarians such as
we came into contact with today. They are human if you
hit them right. The trouble is they are like a lot of north-
erners. Rather than make a fuss they simply shrug their
shoulders and blind their eyes. There are a lot of them
even in this old town. The trouble is, they’ve allowed
themselves to be half convinced of what the evil-minded
and coarser ones rant about and simply shrug their shoul-
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“Yes, sir. What kind of a rig do you want. I’m the
proprietor.”
Even Dr. Tansey was surprised at the announcement.
He knew many black men were in business in the South,
and thriving, but hardly expected to see one in charge of
such a business, and speaking such language.
“I want to go to Orangeburg, in the morning. I’ve a
friend with me, a stranger, and I want him to see some of
the country.”
“All right, Sir. What time? And where shall I call for
you?”
“Better call at six o'clock at the Great Southern Hotel.
We want to get a start and avoid the heat.”
“Yes, Sir — All right, Sir. – Who shall I call for?”
“Dr. Tansey. We’ll be up and waiting for you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Having selected the car and arranged the details, Dr.
Tansey returned to his hotel. Bennet had returned also
and the two talked for some time over their experiences
and observations, before dining, and adjourning for the
wide veranda of the hotel where they sat in silence listen-
ing to the discussions of those about them.
Travel where you will in the South, one characteristic
of the southerner you will always find. He is curious
about strangers. They make it a point to always find out,
if possible who every visitor is, where he hails from and
what his business is. The native Charlestonians, who vis-
ited the Great Southern were no exceptions. From the
time Dr. Tansey and Bennet had registered and shown
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
active interest in the accident early in the day, there was a
constant curiosity manifested about them.
Bennet had been followed and watched as he left the
hotel for his walk and Dr. Tansey had been trailed. By
some ties of neighborliness born of years of mingling com-
munities are drawn together. Where each knows the
other for miles around the presence of a stranger is sig-
nalled from house to house and native to native. Such
was the case upon the arrival of Bennet and Dr. Tansey.
The people of Charleston as in most southern communi-
ties guard their traditions, mannerisms, hobbies and odd-
ities religiously. If you are prepared to join with them in
their beliefs and practices you are welcomed. If you dif-
fer with them and differ positively you are marked and left
to complete isolation.
There were a dozen or more men grouped about the
veranda when Dr. Tansey and Bennet finished their meal
and joined the assembly, taking seats at one side. All
turned in their seats, to watch the two men, as they walked
over to a corner of the veranda and took vacant seats pre-
paratory to viewing the promenade of those on the street
a floor below. Dr. Tansey was indulging in his cigar
while Bennet was silent, his mind intent on Lida and his
home.
After the two men had been seated long enough for the
cigar Dr. Tansey was quietly smoking to be nearly con-
sumed, the natives who had been sitting about grew rest-
less because of their silence. On the veranda were men
ranging from young to middle age, tall and wiry, for the
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most part, some dressed neatly and others not. They
talked of every subject under the sun from farm pros-
pects to fertilizer.
Dr. Tansey was just about to suggest retiring, having
ficked his cigar stub into the street when one of his near-
est neighbors turned with:
“Pretty nice town, ain't it, Stranger?”
“Very nice, what I’ve seen of it,” offered Dr. Tansey.
“You people take great pride in your city, as well you
should. It has a history to be proud of.”
The veranda guests were pleased. “Yes,” continued the
first speaker. “We’re right pert proud of our town. Even
of our blacks.”
“They seem to be making great progress,” commented
Dr. Tansey. “I see they’re in business and making them-
selves substantial citizens.”
“Oh, as much as we allow. We don’t plan to have them
go too far. You know they out number us here.”
“Yes, I recall. That’s pretty true of nearly all the
South, I believe,” was Dr. Tansey's comment.
“Yes. That's the reason the problem looms so large to
us down here. That's why you people up North don’t un-
derstand it. — I can tell you’re from up North by your
talk.”
“Yes, we are,” Dr. Tansey admitted.
“As a matter of self-preservation we have to keep them
in their places, even the best of them,” continued his neigh-
bor.

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“What do you mean, the best of them? I thought you
people held them all to be the same.”
“No, there are some who own property, are educated
and substantial. But we can’t allow them to put on any
airs, else they'd think they were white folks and get
fresh.”
“Then it’s not so much their inferiority as it is a mat-
ter of self-preservation,” suggested Dr. Tansey.
“I’d not say that,” suggested another of the group. “A
black man is a black man and can’t be compared with a
white man no matter how much money he accumulates,
or how educated.”
Dr. Tansey shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t under-
stand you people and your arguments,” he said.
“You don’t believe a Negro is the equal of a white man,
do you?” he was asked.
“Since you ask me, I’ll tell you. I believe in the Con-
stitution, and the Declaration of Independence. To my
mind there are only two kinds of men in this counrty. In
fact, in the world—good men and bad men. Color neither
makes goodness nor badness. The mere color white, per
se, is not a badge of superiority, purity or goodness.
“As to whether one man is or is not the equal of an-
other, that wholly depends on mental ability, character
and the quality of man he is. A man may be white and
be the most desperate and vile being in the world. He
may be black, yellow or red and be the same. All de-
pends on his environment and circumstances of existence.
I think the World War fully demonstrated that.”
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“I don’t give a damn how educated a black man is; how
much money he has accumulated, how much character, as
you call it, he may have, God never made a black man to
be the equal of the white, and no nigger is as good as I
am. We were made to preserve civilization, to further cul-
ture and to rule. And we do rule here in the South,” ex-
ploded the southerner.
“I hate a Negro,” he continued. “They are all brutes
no matter how much education or culture they have. Un-
der the skin they are brutes. We know the Negro down
here.”
Dr. Tansey shrugged his shoulders, as he replied: “I
can’t understand that instinct which makes a man hate a
thing or animal and yet keep that animal so close to him
as domestics are to your households. If I dislike a China-
man I don’t want a Chinese cook. If I dislike a black
man I don’t want one about me or my house. On that
premise your position is faulty and your shoutings fal-
lacious. You people are all wrong. And the sooner you
find it out the better for the country. You can’t always
keep subdued and under your heel a people who have
made the advances the blacks have even in the face of all
odds.
“Besides aren’t you preparing your own funerals? What
a man sows that shall he also reap. No words were ever
truer. Right now, even as you claim to know the Negro,
you don't know him. You don't know what he's thinking.
You don’t know what’s in his heart. You talk about civ-
ilization, culture, Christianity. You don’t know the words.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“As far as I can observe, the Negro is the only real
Christian. Had he not Christ-like qualities his soul would
have been so embittered long before this that the whole
race would have been a group of mad anarchists. Sup-
pose they were not real Christians? Suppose for one day
they all should run amuck? What would happen? Just
think, of your servants, your workers developing the craze
for blood, for one single unit of twenty-four hours. What
a holocaust. Let me just hint — poison in your coffee or
other food; dynamite in your factories or under your
homes.
“Bless your God that they are a spiritual, large heart-
ed, forgiving, patient and loving people. You’re teaching
the use of force by example, tantalizing by debauching
their children, maddening by the bullet and torch, and
driving to despair by your injustices, and feeding the fires
of a volcano. Only deep spirituality, great Christianity
and nobility of soul, in these people, prevents an eruption
so violent that the whole world would be shaken.
“If religion means anything; if Christianity is more than
a sham and cloak with you, let justice rule and righteous
fairness prevail.”
“You talk like some new fool minister,” his neighbor
sneered impatiently. “Seems to me you’ve learned a lot
for being here so short a time,” commented another. “Oh,
we know how to take care of all that. Keep ’em scared
of you. Keep ’em scared of you,” asserted still another.
“You ought to be last persons to talk of Negroes being
scared,” retored Dr. Tansey. “They didn’t scare in the
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he watches white America. Don’t you think they are
studying you and your professions of Christianity? —
Don’t be fooled. You are being weighed — America is
being weighed, Christianity itself is being weighed. Every
form of religion except one, the Catholic, has been spoiled.
And mind you I'm not a Catholic. The bugaboo of preju-
dice is but a bugaboo after all and Christians ought to be
above it.
“I can’t,” Dr. Tansey continued, “for the life of me see
how it is that you people have been able to foist your be-
liefs and theories, and misrepresentations so thoroughly
upon the rest of the world. My God, but the world is
gullible, when you think of it.
“Here you people have maligned a race, distorted the
truth about a race; and so painted a race as to make that
race the most shunned in all the world when as a matter
of fact all races are about on par. Race for race, none
may be considered better than the other. It is our white
civilization that has spread most of our evils. We’ve set
the example. Every newspaper is full of criminal narra-
tive, reports of injustices. It’s a good thing our examples
are imitated so little.”
“We’ve got to, and you’ve got to protect our women
from the brutes. You don’t have that menace in the
North so much as we have it down here. We’re on the
ground and know what we talk about,” the first speaker
defended while his companions nodded vigorous assent,
indicating that he had scored heavily.
“That’s another fallacy. —What about their women?
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
A southerner ought to be ashamed to mention that sub-
ject. Let's see, there are about twelve million black peo-
ple in this country — that is, people with Negro blood in
them. I think statistics will bear me out in the statement
that more than four million of that number are of mixed
blood. Now who mixed that blood? It was not the black
man. You left your women behind with him when you
went to battle in the Civil War. You found your women
safe when you returned, even though you were fighting to
keep him slave and serf. No, I tell you it is a white prob-
lem. I tell you, America — and particularly that part of
America south of Mason and Dixon's line, ought to be
ashamed of itself. It ought to be in so contrite a mood at
the wrongs perpetrated on a harmless race that they
should be working tooth and nail to right that wrong,
rather than steeping themselves further in wrong.
“Think, gentlemen. Here was a race brought over by
force, sold into bondage by force, subjected to all manners
of brutalities, by force, its blood mixed because you were
the masters, and instead of seeing your wrongs you gloat
in your mastery and prate of civilization. Race inferiority
and race superiority! What a mockery! Oh, what’s the
use? I’m going to bed.”
Every man on the veranda was on his feet as Dr. Tan-
sey and Bennet who had remained quiet all this time
arose. The anger in each man was growing.
“You say harsh things about a country in which you
are a guest, Stranger.”
“Harsh but true, gentlemen,” Dr. Tansey waved his
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
hand as he stood facing them. “Harsh but true. — Calm
yourselves, gentlemen. Calm yourselves. We won’t fight
over it. At least I won’t. You invited my opinion. I
gave it.”
“You evidently don’t intend to stay long in this sec-
tion,” observed one.
“As long as I wish. There are good white men down
here, who think and feel as I do. Many of them, who
know the truths that you and I know. For the sake of
peace they have allowed the cruel to triumph. But I tell
you, gentlemen, some of these days this very class of
which I speak will so arouse themselves over your de-
pravities and brutalities, – that right and justice will tri-
umph. Until that time let brutality have its sway. This
is not the first time I’ve been in this section. I’ve long
known of the brutalities and barbarities practiced down
here in the name of civilization. Every day is filled with
some tragedy and you know it. No one section is free.
But, hell! what’s the use? Come on, Bennet, let’s go to
bed. Good-night, gentlemen.”
Dr. Tansey and Bennet strode past the group and into
the lobby of the hotel to the elevator and to their room.
Dr. Tansey fully expected to be set upon before he left
the veranda and was surprised when not attacked. He
was surprised at his own vehemence and outburst, as he
considered it afterward.
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CHAPTER XVIII
Bennet was just exclaiming, “My, Doctor, but you
raved.—Talk about my holding my tongue”—when there
was a tap at the door and to their invitation to enter the
door opened and a benign white haired, dignified man in
clergyman’s attire stepped into the room. He held out a
hand as he said:
“I don’t know your name but I want to thank you for
the talk you gave. It was courageous.”
Dr. Tansey accepted the extended hand with: “Dr.
Tansey’s my name and this is my friend Mr. Bennet.”
“Glad to know you, Doctor — and Mr. Bennet. My
name is Buntin, Windsor Buntin — I’ve an Episcopal
parish up country away. — I’ve been trying to make these
people see the error of their ways but have had no suc-
cess. They simply ignore my preaching and my church.
You've no idea how bitter they are.”
“Never mind that, Father, your work will show some
day. — I should not have spoken so but couldn’t help my-
self. I witnessed a sight today that coupled with others
I’ve seen made by blood boil. I wonder the colored peo-
ple don’t rise up in rebellion. And yet they’re a docile
people, so spiritual that they prefer to have patience.”
Father Buntin, turned to go then wheeled again, ex-
tending his hand, saying: “Your words have given me new
courage; new hope. I shall work on. Thank you, good
night.” A strong grip gave mutual courage as the two
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men stood, hands clasped. After a moment the clergy-
man was gone.
Dr. Tansey and Bennet soon retired and it was not long
thereafter before the heavy breathing of the former told
Bennet that his companion was sound asleep. Bennet,
however, lay awake a long time, thinking over the ex-
periences of the day, and Lida. His mind was filled with
her. After the conversations on the ship and his experi-
ences and observations in Charleston he was ready to be-
lieve that she had been persuaded to give him up.
“And yet,” he debated with himself, “she knew all
these things before she promised.” Her words at their last
meeting sounded in his soul: “I love you, and always will.”
Despite all the doubts that assailed him, this expression
with her image cheered till he slept with a smile about his
face.
Dr. Tansey was the first to awaken in the morning and
by the time he and Bennet had prepared for their trip
the chauffeur, engaged the previous day, arrived with the
car. It was a Packard and its well oiled engine purred
musically, as the two fares piled in their luggage, prepara-
tory to departure.
Just as the sun was burnishing the waves of the harbor
and reddening Forts Moultrie and Sumter they started
from the hotel and after skirting the suburbs, headed for
the open country along the road to Augusta. As they
sped along the flat countryside, great fields of cotton lay
spread before them interspersed here and there with other
fields of corn. Acres and acres of full blown cotton, in the
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a short distance from where a group were resting, having
come to the end of their rows. A few were laughing, but
most of them were serious. Suddenly, as Dr. Tansey and
Bennet watched them interestedly, there seemed to rise
from the ground itself a rumbling, rounded harmony.
Both men turned, mystified, from one side to the other,
looking off in the distance wondering if the strains came
from some home in which there was an organ. The
chauffeur, who had been silent throughout the ride offered,
as he tinkered with his engine, an explanation; “They’re
singing,” he said, lifting his head in the direction of the
grouped laborers.
The two men could not understand the words, which
were pronounced with an accent, suggestive of a French
patois and an English inflection; a characteristic of all
speech in the vicinity of Charleston. The music, however,
was marvelous. To Dr. Tansey it was like the prelude to
an offertory played by some master musician on a great
organ. The blending of the voices was such as to make
the music seem like some weird paean, each group of
tones standing out just enough to make the drum of the
ear quiver with the sound which brought delight to the
hearers. Dr. Tansey and Bennet studied the singers,
their eyes turning first from those producing the bass tones
to those carrying the melody.
There was a haunting, semi-sad, plaintive shade to the
song, with here and there the soprano of the women and
the altos rising above the other voices while the lower
tones seemed to moan their way from the diaphragms of
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the singers to their throats and out into the air. The song
was one of the old slave melodies — a spiritual. The
words, as Dr. Tansey afterward learned, were:
I want to be with Jesus,
For Christ has set me free;
I want to be with Jesus,
And sing for liberty.
There was such deep pathos in the song that for a few
moments both men stood as if transfixed. To Dr. Tan-
sey’s heart there came a gripping pain of sympathy while
his eyes filled with tears. He turned aside to brush them
away, and when he turned back again Bennet was in the
act of putting a handkerchief to his face. There seemed
to be a wailing note in the song, as if they were crying out
against conditions which hemmed them about, and against
which they were helpless except for the faith which their
singing instilled in them and the hopes that filled them of
a better day to come.
The leader of the song had just stepped to another row
of cotton and started toward the other end of the field still
singing when a man, evidently the overseer, rode up from
somewhere out of sight. The crowd was now moving
along down the lanes of cotton when the man, a raw-
boned, sandy-haired, fiery-eyed man, wearing a wide
brimmed slouched hat, came into the group swinging a
seven-foot four-braided whip with the end knotted.
“Here, you black devils. Get to work! Get to work!”
With that he swung the whip viciously, the lash catching
two of the women in its swish. One gave a groan and the
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other bit her lips in agony of pain and in an effort to re-
press the anguish she felt. The tall, lanky black who had
led off with the singing and hoeing stopped and looked
angrily at the man, gripping his hoe menacingly. He kept
silent, however.
“None of your impudence, Obed, or I'll brain you,”
shouted the foreman. “Let me catch you all loafing again
and I’ll cowhide every durned one of you.”
The Negro spoken to, lifted his head toward heaven as
if in prayer, then turned to his hoeing.
The overseer turned to the men in the automobile.
“You have to drive them. They’re so lazy. You have
to keep at them and use force, too,” he offered in ex-
planation.
“You use force, all right” — commented Dr. Tansey
drily. “I’d like to see if you’d not be a lot lazier if you
had to swing a hoe in that sun on that hot field. I know
I would.”
“Oh, that’s a nigger's job. Not a white man’s.”
“Suppose they decided to quit you. Who’d do the
work.”
“Nobody 'round here would hire my hands, 'less I said
so. That's the rule. Besides I feed 'em. They’ve got to
work for me.”
“Don’t you pay them in cash for their work?”
“Sometimes.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-five cents a day.”
“My God!” exclaimed Dr. Tansey. “Thirty-five cents
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a day to work in that field — from sunrise to dark. My
God! and you call them lazy.”
“Well, who's going to do the work? — Who'll I get to
work my farm?” The overseer exclaimed.
“And you drive them with a whip for that pay. I won-
der they don’t all leave you.”
“If they did that I’d break their backs. Durn them,”
returned the overseer.
“Well, we must be going. Good day,” was Dr. Tan-
sey’s parting. With disgust in their hearts the two men
resumed their journey. They had passed Branchville and
were on the Orangeburg road going through a long stretch
of pine woods, talking of commonplace things, Bennet's
mind still centered on Lida and their imminent meeting,
when suddenly Dr. Tansey listened acutely, above the
purr of the automobile. They had just passed a little
copse at the rear of which sat a small house. Dr. Tansey
listened again. Bennet, too, had heard.
“What was that?” he turned to Dr. Tansey.
“Stop, driver,” the latter ordered.
As the car came to a stop, off to the right of them from
the woods a little way from the road came the most awful
screams and groans. Both men leaped from the car and
started for the spot.
“Watch out for snakes,” cautioned the chauffeur.
“They’re bad about here.”
Neither man paid heed to the warning, however, but
rushed to where the groans and screams had sounded.
In the midst of the thicket, lashed to a holly tree, with
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back bared to the waist was a brown skinned girl, cry-
ing and groaning, blood running down her back. At her
side, with coat off and sleeves rolled up was a man with a
ministerial vestee and collar on, swinging a lash.
“I’ll teach you to steal,” he puffed vehemently as he
swung the lash again. At the swish of the whip a large
welt stood up from the girl’s back, from which blood be-
gan to flow anew.
Bennet was ahead of Dr. Tansey, this time, his eyes
blazing. He was just in time to catch the lash as it de-
scended for another stroke. He only caught part of it,
however. His grip had been in the middle. The tapering
end of the lash wound itself about Bennet's shoulder with
just a tip touching his flesh, raising a lump and firing his
soul with madness. He jerked the whip from the man’s
hand, the force of the pull throwing the lasher off his bal-
ance and toward Bennet. As the man fell toward him,
Bennet's fist shot out and caught the man flush on the jaw.
He went down.
“I’ve seen about all of this I can stand, you brute,” he
growled, his voice subdued with pent up emotion. “Stand
up and take some of your own medicine.”
The man began to grovel at his feet, his senses clearing
enough to make him realize that if he stood he would be
struck down again. Bennet stood over him, feet ex-
tended, poised for another blow.
“Don’t hit me. Don't hit me,” he begged. “I’m a min-
ister. I just wanted to teach her a lesson — not to steal.”
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“I didn't steal nothing. 'Fore God I didn’t steal noth-
ing,” moaned the girl.
“Get up,” commanded Bennet, “before I brain you. A
big hulk of a man like you to be beating a woman. A
minister — Pah!”
As they were talking, a rather pretty-faced white wom-
an came toward them, holding her hand high displaying
a purse. “George, I found it — I found it. Just where
I put it on a shelf back of the clock on the mantel. I’m
so glad I found it.”
The girl was crying softly now, though her flesh was
trembling as it bled. She was still tied to the tree. The
minister’s wife took in the scene and the two strangers,
then turned, without a blush or a glance at the girl to the
house.
“Free that girl,” Bennet commanded.
The minister had now replaced his frock and busied
himself untying the thongs that bound the girl. “I meant
no harm. They all do it around here. I wanted to teach
her not to steal. My wife had lost her purse,” he offered
as if in palliation.
“Shut up!” blazed Bennet as he stepped toward the min-
ister, his fists clenched again. “You shame the name of
minister. You — you — devil.”
The girl, still crying with pain, threw her discarded
clothing over her shoulder, covering her wounds, when
freed, started off through the woods.
“If I had my gun here I’d kill you. White men don’t
interfere in one another's affairs with their servants 'round
here.”
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“Go get your gun. I’ll wait here,” commanded Bennet.
The minister departed, the girl following still crying
under her breath. The two men watched him disappear
and enter his house. They waited some minutes longer
and when he failed to make good his threat they returned
to their car and were on their way again.
“What a miserable country this is,” commented Bennet,
as they started.
“Yes, miserable, for some people. It’s a beautiful land,
though, were it not for such things as these and — snakes.
And yet, Bennet, we don’t know half. It fairly sickens
me when I think of the crimes wantonly committed in this
land.”
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CHAPTER XIX
Due to the roundabout way they had to travel, because
of swamps and small streams over which there were no
bridges, it was well along in the afternoon when they
reached Orangeburg. They came into the city from the
south, over a long bridge stretching across a swamp
through which the waters flowed like a river. The Edisto
River, however, was at the town edge of the swamp, a
narrow dark stream, deep and mysterious, bending in and
out on the border of the town. Across this the car rat-
tled and sped along the highway into the center of the old
city.
Stores lined the main street, that ran from the river
clear across the town and into the adjoining country on
the other side, after crossing the railroad track. On the
river side of the town its boundary was fringed with small
houses of the poorer residents, with a section adjoining in
which the colored population lived. Most of the large
stores were on Main Street in this section, having spread
toward the river from the Court House and yard in the
center of a small mall.
This mall and Court House were historic, having stood
since Colonial days, the center of all life of the town and
fenced in, by tall trees growing about it. At the rear,
two churches raised their tall spires while in front was the
imposing new post office building, the better class barber
shops of the town, a couple of the main stores and the
High School for white pupils. On the other sides were a
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drug store, and residences of some of the older families.
Main Street divided itself at the mall so as to take in the
square then rejoined itself on the further side.
Along the continuation of this street for about a mile
toward the railroad were the wide residential estates of the
older families, the Sallees, the Dibbles, the Felders, the
Motts and the Harleys. Beautiful southern estates, well
preserved, with their Colonial and slave day traditions
seeming to show in the very austerity and dignity of the
gate-posts and driveways.
There were a few stores conducted by Negroes on the
opposite sides of the street, a large livery stable or two,
two garages and other less pretentious residences. All
other streets either paralleled this or crossed it at right
angles. Across the railroad on the left was what had once
been a park owned by Claflin University, a school for
Negroes. This had been divided now into house lots and
dwellings erected. At the rear of this were other old resi-
dences, and a farm belonging to the State College; while
to the north and back from the section, opposite the low
squat station was what remained of Claflin University
with its campus. Opposite and beyond this stretching out
into the country were farm lands owned by the two insti-
tutions, residences of other wealthy families, including the
Andrewses and Websters, from carpet bag days.
Orangeburg boasted of but one hotel, situated near the
Court House, it was here that all the county gathered to
trade news and horses, or other products up for barter.
To this the chauffeur drove Dr Tansey and Bennet.
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“Well, Boy,” Dr. Tansey said as their luggage was car-
ried in. “You’re in the heart of the south now. Here’s
where I leave you for a time. You will continue on to the
country for your girl and I’ll hunt germs. Go cautiously.
Keep your head, and your tongue, get your girl and get
out. That’s my advice. See and don’t see.”
Lida Lauriston was indignant at the manner in which
Miss Gregory hurried her out of town, when commence-
ment was over, and bundled her into a train headed for
her southern home. She would have been still more in-
dignant had the girl known the real cause for the hurry.
From the staid old New England town, to New York,
Lida’s every thought was of Bennet and the desire she
had to remain with him a little longer. The more she
thought the more indignation burned at her heart. She
planned and replanned the many things of which she
would write him. When New York was reached she
handed the porter a letter to be mailed. In this was her
heart. She told of her sorrow at leaving him, her indig-
nation against Miss Gregory, of the company of girls she
had met on the train.
When Philadelphia was reached, with the change of
scenery and the faces of the people, thoughts began to
shift from scenes she was leaving to those of her home.
She dreaded the meeting with her father and appreciated
the storm that would rage about her head when she broke
the news that she was to be married.
She counted on the great love her father had always
shown for her to win her way through the ordeal. Through-
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out the remainder of the trip till the train pulled up to the
station at Columbia, where she had asked him to meet her,
her thoughts were centered on this encounter. For the
first time in her life she somewhat dreaded meeting her
father. Her heart was set, however, and whenever a
young girl envelopes herself in the strength of true love
she steels herself for any ordeal.
The train pulled into Columbia from across the yellow
Santee River, past the penitentiary and on into the center
of the city in the midst of a summer downpour. It was
not a showery affair but a set rain with lowering clouds
floating overhead in a southwesterly direction, making
gloom for the surrounding scenery and filling everyone
with a feeling of depression.
She spied her father before he did her, pacing up and
down the platform in his tall spare dignity, erect and eager.
He was looking through the coaches as he walked, but
missed his daughter till she landed with her luggage which
the porter set at the corner of the station while she ran
along the platform. As she neared him she called out:
“Daddy!”
The southerner turned in his tracks and swept his
daughter into his arms where she nestled crying softly.
“Daddy, Daddy, Dear Daddy, it’s good to be with you
again.”
Colonel Lauriston, stern old disciplinarian that he was,
struggled to master his emotions, but despite himself and
biting his gray moustache the tears flowed from his eyes.
Only one who has loved an offspring with all the devotion
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of a parent can appreciate the pent up emotion that sought
expression as the old man clasped his daughter to his heart.
He seemed unwilling to ever release her.
At last he freed her, however, and held her at arm’s
length while the tears still flowed. For a moment or two
they stood thus, the father’s eyes caressingly roving over
his daughter’s form. Finally he spoke a little softly and
wistfully, as if musing more to himself than speaking to
her.
“The days have been long — so very long, child.”
“Did you miss me as much as that, Daddy?” She
threw her arms around him again in affectionate embrace.
“I missed you also.”
“Bless your heart,” was all he could trust himself to say.
The station porter’s move to lift the luggage and carry
it away ended the touchingly domestic scene to which the
passengers had been witnesses. Linked arm in arm father
and daughter passed down the platform and around the
corner to the awaiting carriage.
The drive out into the country to the ancestral home of
the Lauristons for Lida was one of continued delight ex-
pressed in exclamations as she passed familiar sights along
the way. For Colonel Lauriston the drive was perfect
since he had his daughter at his side. He enjoyed sitting
back in the carriage, listening to Lida’s talk and studying
the changes a year had made in her. As they rode the
clouds broke and the sun shone as if to smile a welcome.
There had been decided changes in her. Her face had
matured, taking on a more womanly expression; the cheeks
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seemed to be fuller and more delicately tinted; her lips
a little more rounded and redder with the wine of life.
Colonel Lauriston also noted a little more firmness about
the well-chiseled rounded chin.
In the midst of one of her bursts of admiration she
turned to him as she felt his scrutiny.
“Why, Daddy, have I changed so much that you are try-
ing to get acquainted with me over again. Have I grown
so much as that?”
He smiled as he said: “I do think I’ll have to get ac-
quainted again. You've changed and improved. Your
year has done you good. You're now more than ever the
image of your mother.”
“I may have changed outwardly but inwardly I’m not
changed. I’m still Lida,” she exclaimed, raising his hand
to her lips affectionately.
“I don’t know about that. I have a suspicion that you
must have met someone who's changed your heart just a
little. And I fear my girl won’t be with me long.”
“No one can take your place, Daddy,” she replied
evasively.
“Oh, it’s not that. I know I won’t be with you always
and I’d like to see you settled in a home of your own be-
fore I go. I’d sort of hoped you might find some nice
young man up there. Did you, Lida?”
The girl’s blushes betrayed her.
“There — there, I thought so,” her father teased, not-
ing her embarrassment. “Tell me about him. I might as
well know first as last.”
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“As serious as that, is it?” Colonel Lauriston remarked
shrewdly.
His daughter made no comment, becoming suddenly
pensive as she thought of Bennet and her mind raced back
to him. Conversation for the remainder of the trip was
spasmodic, Colonel Lauriston seemingly being content to
have his daughter again under his eye and she absorbed
in her dreams. In her reverie she retraced the events of
the past year back to her leaving home. At this point she
turned suddenly to her father.
“Oh, Daddy, what’s become of Aunt Sally Gorton. Is
she still here?”
“Yes, – still here.” A spasm of pain at the reminder
flitted across his face.
“That was awful, Daddy — the curse she placed on you,
I mean.”
“I thought you'd forget that superstition up North, My
Girl. Only a superstition — only a superstition,” he re-
peated.
“Yes, Daddy, but she whipped you. — Ugh!” she shiv-
ered. “I can feel the pain of it yet.”
“The whim of an old woman, Lida. — The whim of an
old woman,” he repeated.
The carriage by this time had rounded a curve in the
road disclosing to view a wide expanse of cotton fields,
with here and there patches of woods. Set back at the
edges of the woods at varying distances apart were houses
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of the foremen of the Lauriston plantation, the landed
tenantry, and the squat dwellings of the Negro hands. In
the midst of the grouping was the saw mill with its piles of
sawdust and discarded slabs over which Lida had romped
as a child.
Between adjoining fields of growing crops which seemed
to be waving their welcome greeting, wound the white
sanded road like a ribbon passing house after house till it
came to the gate of the Lauriston mansion.
Nestling back in the woods, some distance from the road
on the opposite side to the Lauriston lands, and two miles
away behind the copse of woods around which the road
had curved, was the less pretentious home of Old John
Marley. Lida stood as these familiar scenes came into
view.
“Hello, everybody,” she shouted as she waved her hand
joyously over the expanse that had opened up to view.
“Hello, everybody.” Tears of joy dimmed her eyes as she
thought. — “Home again.”
She rested her hand gently on her father’s shoulder as
the carriage gave a lurch but held her balance, looking
through her tears over the landscape. Taking in here and
there groups of laborers who halted in their work as they
beheld the carriage and knew that the daughter of the
house had returned. Lida gripped her handkerchief and
waved it at first one group and then another. Hats and
hands were waved in response. The carriage never halted
till the horses came panting up to the wide piazza and
rounded up to the hitching post.
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All the domestics of the household had swarmed to the
door and onto the piazza as the carriage rolled up, from the
aged bandana-decorated cook and ruler of the household
Mammy Wing, to Malinda the table girl and Joe the chore
boy. As the carriage halted, Mammy Wing, with her fat
arms pushed the crowd aside, and started to meet the
young girl. She had no more than made two steps, how-
ever, before Lida had mounted to the piazza and was swept
into the old woman’s embrace.
“Poor Honey Lamb,” was all the old woman could say,
tears halting further speech. While still in the embrace
of the old woman, Lida was reaching out and shaking
hands with everybody. Joe the chore boy was busy with
the luggage, when Lida espied him and cried, “Hello, Joe,
aren’t you going to shake hands?”
The boy dropped his bundles and bowed, then shook the
proffered hand. They were still grouped about the girl
when Colonel Lauriston ordered:
“Be gone. Everybody. Get to your work.”
With that all scattered, and Lida was ushered into the
house. In the rural south formalities are forgotten. Thus
when the news spread that Lida had returned, neighbors
for miles around began to call. These calls continued till
far into the night and Colonel Lauriston’s heart filled to
the bursting with pride as he exhibited his daughter to his
admiring neighbors and extolled her accomplishments.
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CHAPTER XX
It was far into the morning of the following day when
Lida opened her eyes, following a sleep with pleasant
dreams. As she awoke the sun was streaming into the
room from high in the heavens. For a brief spell she sur-
rendered herself to the luxury of being at home and in her
own bed, sending her thoughts northward to Bennet. As
she built her air castles of romance an intense longing to
see her lover gripped her.
Picturing scene after scene in which the spirit of Bennet
was present, she began to realize how difficult it would be
to break the news of her engagement to her father. Long,
long she argued with herself that her case was different,
that Bennet was no different from anyone else except as
his character and personality stood out above and beyond
that of any other man she had ever met. She contrasted
Bennet with the people of colored blood with whom she
had come in contact during her life but could see nothing
in him that was like them. He was as far removed from
the plantation hand type of her father's lands and those of
their neighbors as she was. After becoming hopelessly in-
volved in speculations for a time she swept all these aside
with the words:
“I don’t care. I love him. He's all the world to me.
Come what will my heart and life are his.”
With that decision she arose, threw about her a dress-
ing robe and wrote him a letter full of her heart.
“Dearest One:”— she wrote. “It is morning and I am
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at home. How good it seems to be again with those asso-
ciations and friends who were yours from childhood. Ev-
erything seems the same. The people are just as hospit-
able, just as homey, just as loving. Life is sweet to me.
Sweeter to me since I know I have the love of the best
man in the world and my love is his. Just think what a
difference a year makes in one’s experience. A year ago
this time I was but a girl. Now I have seen some of the
world, have known some bitternesses, much joy and now
know what love is. It is so different from what I used to
imagine.
I can now understand the love that Christ gave to the
world. For you have awakened in me such a deep love
that I reverence the world for it. My love for you seems
to make me see the world in such a different light that I
see good in everything. Even the twigs of white oak in
the yard as they sway in the breeze seem to whisper of
love. If my love for you can make the world seem as it
does to me, how wonderful must be that love which God
gives to humanity. I seem to ask nothing of the world
but your love; seem to want nothing but to look up into
the sky and to know without seeing the words written
there that I have your love and as you love me so does
the Great God.
I have not yet told Daddy of my love for you; that I
have found the man of my heart. I shall do so today.
I pray God to give me strength for the ordeal. I know
it will be an ordeal but I shall be brave, Dear, for your
sake — for the sake of our love. He perhaps won't see it
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as I do, but he loves me and loving me I hope to convince
him. When I go to him I shall have your hand in mine,
in thought, and that shall cheer me along.
Since knowing you I have learned how blind prejudice
wrongs many. It is unchristian, unholy. It has spoiled
the whole of Christian living in this land of ours. Oh, I
have learned a lot since knowing you, Dear. Prejudice
has made a mockery of religion. What a farce religion
has come to be because of the spectre prejudice has built
up among us. In what a poor light we of this land must
stand before the eyes of the world ! In what a poor light
we must stand before the poor untutored colored people
who are our servants. What an example we set for them!
I shall be different from this on, thanks to the love you
have awakened in me and some day perhaps all this land
will be different. Then right will triumph and justice pre-
vail, as they do not now. I anticipate a storm when I
give the news to Daddy. Pray for me and with me, Dear,
that I may have strength and success.
Remember that wherever you go, wherever you are,
night and day, my heart is with you, my hopes are in you.
Living or dead I am yours and always will be.
Well, Dear, it is nearly noon and I must be dressing.
Give me your heart’s love always and I shall ask no more.
Trustingly yours,
L.
The letter finished Lida rang for her maid and after her
bath was soon dressed. Her father was waiting on the
veranda when she appeared.
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“Hello, Daddy,” she greeted him effusively as she swept
down on him, placing both arms about his neck as she
kissed him. His arms clasped her long and tenderly as
she sat on the arm of his wide rocker.
“Are you tired, after last night?” he asked, tenderly.
“Oh, no, Daddy. It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”
“We’re all glad to have you back with us,” he said
tenderly. “Even the blacks. They had a celebration them-
selves after you retired.”
“It’s good to be loved so well, isn’t it, Daddy?”
“Yes, my child. Love of your friends, love of your
neighbors and love of your servants, make life worth while.
Now that you’re back I suppose someone else will be
claiming your love, Eh, Child?”
“I don’t know, Daddy.”
“I shall be a jealous and lonely old father, when that
time comes.”
“You won’t need to be for whoever loves me must love
you.”
“Yes, but I may not love him, for he will be taking the
jewel of an old man’s heart.”
“Sh-s-s-sh-sh.” She warned, a finger on his lips. “Don’t
talk that way. Daddy will always be daddy to me.”
“I’d like to see you well married and settled, Lida, be-
fore long. I’m getting old now. My days are few before
I shall be called to join those now under the sycamore.
I want to see you married and in a home of your own be-
fore I go. — There are several good boys about here, sons
of good neighbors. It would be nice if you could find one
of them satisfactory.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“Who, for instance?”
“Well, there's Old John Marley's son, Little Joe.”
Lida remained silent as the Colonel named over the young
men he had in mind. “There's George Danielson, James
Ferdick, John Knott. All sons of good men. Young men
who are steady and native.”
“Well, I don’t care for any of them. They’re all too
stodgy. Besides Little Joe may be like his father. Im-
agine me the wife of a couple of hundred pounds of grease.
Just fuh-fuh-ſuh-tuh, imagine it,” she mimicked. At the
picture conjured up by the mimickry both laughed.
“Well,” continued her father, when their laughter
ceased, “Old John and I have been neighbors for years
and years and his place adjoins mine. He comes from
good stock, too. I understand Little Joe thinks a heap
of you, too.”
“It won’t do any good, Daddy. I don’t want any of
them.”
Colonel Lauriston detected the wistful tone in Lida's
voice. He studied his daughter shrewdly. She blushed
under his scrutiny.
“Ah,” he said as she averted her face. “You’ve found
someone while at school. Eh, I thought that would hap-
pen. Well, he’ll have to prove himself to me.”
“Oh, he can do that,” she championed in brave admis-
sion. “You won’t like him though, and I’m sorry for that
because I’m going to marry him.”
“Whether I will it or not? Would you defy your father?
The father who nursed you like a mother from a little tot
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“If he's manly and upright I’ll like him, perhaps; if he
treats you right and is worthy of you.”
“He’s more than manly and upright. He is one man in
a thousand, Daddy, and I’d go to the ends of the earth
with him and for him.”
“Even forsaking me?” he queried.
“Even forsaking you. My love would not be true other-
wise — and it is true — as true as life,” she said solemnly
— so solemnly that Colonel Lauriston was convinced and
bowed his head. He remained with his head on his chest
for several minutes while Lida stroked his hair tenderly
as if to ward off the blow her next words would give.
“You won’t like him, Daddy, and I’m sorry — so sor-
ry.”
“Why won't I like him? Why are you so sure?” He
gripped her hand fiercely, not knowing what to anticipate.
Lida stood facing him. He also arose and towered in
front of her, awaiting her answer, his eyes snapping and
his nostrils dilating in excitement. In this crisis Lida did
not flinch or wince. She looked straight into his eyes, the
woman in her coming to the fore. There was tenderness
in her eyes and face, yet determination. Colonel Lauris-
ton was over matched in this. He slowly sank back into
his chair, awaiting her answer.
“You won’t like him,” Lida pronounced the words
slowly and with hesitation, “because — because he is not
of my, not of our blood. He has colored blood in him.”
For a moment Colonel Lauriston was stricken dumb
with the shock of the news. His tongue seemed paralyzed.
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He looked up at his daughter, his face wildly distorted
and agonized, the flesh sagging in wretched lines, as the
import of the news came to him. His hands trembled as
with palsy when they reached to grasp those of his daugh-
ter.
“You can’t mean that, child. You’re joking. — It’s a
poor joke, though, Lida — that’s a ghastly joke.”
“But, Daddy, it’s no joke. I’m in earnest.”
“I forbid it.” The Colonel had mastered himself again.
He had now risen from his chair, rage consuming him.
“I forbid it,” he shouted. “I’ll disown you. — I'll kill you
first. — It shan’t be. My God! It shan’t be.”
In the face of this crisis Lida was calmness personified.
She faced her father's rage and tempestuous outburst with
surprising assurance. Colonel Lauriston in his tempest
strode from one end of the veranda to the other. Mutter-
ing and cursing bitterly between threats.
“To think that a Lauriston should ever come to this.
To bring this disgrace on my family — my name. It shall
never be — how did you ever meet this man? — where did
you first meet him? — though you be of my blood if you
ever do such a thing I’ll disinherit you — I’ll cut you off
— put you out. A villain to steal the heart of my innocent
daughter. Oh, why did I ever send you away from me?
Why didn’t I keep you at my side and under my own
eyes. Woe — woe is me. I’m truly cursed.”
“But Daddy, it's no disgrace to love, if one loves truly.”
“Shut up,” he commanded in shouting tones. He had
never before used such a tone to his daughter. She
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
flinched under its volume and shrank away, resolution
still written on her face.
“You talk of love. — You don’t know the meaning of
the word. I’ll not let you throw yourself away.”
There was calm determination of a fixed purpose in the
entire attitude of the girl and Colonel Lauriston realized
that it was the family will pitted against his and that this
will would not be broken. It was now a battle of will
powers and Colonel Lauriston knew that no argument or
persuasion would turn the girl from her purpose. Know-
ing this his rage began to mount again and as it mounted
he began to rave in such violently blasphemous language
that Lida was forced to close her ears. He cursed God,
man, devil and all the universe in his desperation, in the
impotency of his rage. After half an hour he seemed to
have exhausted himself and the storm that wracked him
was spent. Lida had made no attempt either to halt him
or to leave for her room. For some minutes after Colonel
Lauriston ceased to rave he still walked the veranda inter-
mittently throwing back his head and shaking it much as
an angry bull does when in a rage. Finally he turned and
entered the house leaving the girl puzzled, alone on the
veranda. As he left her, Lida sank into the chair he had
vacated, bowing her head on her arms in prayer.
It is characteristic of great simple souls that when in
distress they turn to prayer. It was so with Lida. Lack-
ing the comforting council of a mother her only consola-
tion was in prayer. Tears of sorrow trickled slowly be-
tween her closed lids. Her mind tried to frame a prayer
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“Well, Dear, I must close now. I hear my father still
pacing the floor below and it is almost three o'clock. I
shall try to sleep for I know tomorrow will be a hard
day for me. I shall dream of you, however, and the time
when we shall be together. I am so lonesome, Truman —
lonesome for you. I would ask you to come to me so
that we two could fight and master the situation together,
I am so weak! But I know what a danger that would be
for you and so I must bear it alone. I shall be brave for
your sake, though, and our love shall carry us on.”
She signed, sealed and closed the letter, then without
calling for her maid, whom she had dismissed long ago,
she prepared for bed. Daylight was streaking across the
southern sky, however, before she was able to close her
eyes. It was far toward mid-day when she awoke with a
start, conscious even before she opened her eyes that
someone was in her room. She slowly opened her eyes
to look into the fiery orbs of her father. He had finished
reading her letter of the night before. Her face flushed in
anger at the intrusion and the discourtesy of the act of
opening the letter, even though the act was performed by
her father.
For several moments the two stood gazing at each other,
the father's look being one of menace and threat, the girl's
that of anger. Suddenly Colonel Lauriston’s face became
so distorted with rage that he seemed another man. He
stepped to the bed. Lida did not flinch or avert her gaze,
though believing, in his madness, he was about to do her
harm. She was the first to speak.
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“Daddy,” she said, “I would never have believed a
Lauriston capable of the ungentlemanliness of opening
another's letters. — Give me my letter.”
Colonel Lauriston stared so wildly at the girl that she
began to believe he was out of his mind.
“Give me my letter, Daddy, please.”
“No!” he thundered with such vehemence that the vi-
bration of his voice seemed to shake the wall. His face
was now that of a demon. He leaned closer and closer to
the girl. Her eyes never left his. He raised his hands
while his eyes fixed themselves on the pale pink whiteness
of her lace bound throat. His fingers moved spasmodical-
ly. Lida recalled his threat to kill.
“I’ve a mind to kill you — choke you to death — you —
you — you — ungrateful child. I—I—I—will kill you.”
He bent closer to the pillow on which Lida’s head was
resting. Suddenly just as he was about to lay hands on
her a medallion of Lida’s mother, revealed itself from be-
neath the enfolding lace, due to her heaving breast just as
wild hands were about to clutch the throat of the girl.
Colonel Lauriston’s madness turned to an expression of
horror. With a cry as of great pain he snatched the
medallion from about the girl’s neck, snapping the rib-
bon that held it and strode from the room, crying, “Oh,
God! that I should live to see this day.” He bore the
crumpled letter with him. “Oh, God, I’m mad — I’m
mad! Cursed and mad!”
As the door closed behind him Lida leaped from the
bed.
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CHAPTER XXI
When Colonel Lauriston left Lida's room he went di-
rect to his stable whence he dispatched a messenger to
Old John Marley.
“Ride, boy,” he commanded. “Ride like hell and tell Old
John to come to me right away.”
“Yes Suh,” was the boy’s response as he thrust his heels
into the sides of his unsaddled mount. Old John was at
home, sitting on his porch, fanning himself and puffing.
The ride was a little better than two miles and both horse
and boy were panting at the end of the trip.
“Mistah Lauriston done tole me to come and ast you to
cum tuh him right away. Sump'n very 'portant’s de mat-
tah, Suh.”
“It fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh must be important to send you on
his favorite horse, gallivantin’ across these sands at this
time of day.”
“Yes Suh — yes suh,” was all the boy would say.
“All right. Go down to the barn and tell that lazy
Sam to hitch up and bring my buggy here.”
The boy lost no time executing the order and shortly
Old John was easing his heft into the buggy.
“Fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh — watch out, when I get in,” he
cautioned his man. “Don’t let the durned thing tip over.”
The servant bore down as best he could to balance the
vehicle till Old John was comfortably spread over the seat.
He released his grip and handed the reins to his employer
then stood aside hat in hand. Colonel Lauriston's mes-
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
senger was still at the stable giving his horse a rub down
and a rest before starting. This horse was the boy’s per-
sonal favorite and the animal seemed to respond to af-
fection by rubbing his nose over the lad’s back as the lat-
ter bent to his task. After the horse had rested sufficiently
he too started on the return trip, much more slowly, how-
ever. When he passed the veranda, Colonel Lauriston and
Old John were bent over, head to head. The Colonel was
gesticulating wildly and talking forcefully, while Old John
was all attention.
As Old John Marley listened to Colonel Lauriston
quietly, the only evidence of any excitement in his flacidity
was the ruddy flush showing in his face and the increasing
rapidity of his breathing. From time to time he nodded
his head in encouragement, or uttered a monosyllabic
oath. At last Colonel Lauriston leaned back in his chair
as if concluding his narrative. He had been detailing to
his old friend and crony the story of his daughter and the
situation he was called to face.
“To think that one of mine should have come to this,”
he exclaimed pathetically. “But, By God, she will not.—
She will not. — She will not marry him. I’ll see her dead
first.”
“I fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh tell you what, Park. The best
plan is to marry her off to one of our boys right away.
Let her fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh marry my boy — fuh-fuh-fuh-
fuh-tuh Young John. You remember I’ve said that same
thing for the past year.”
“Yes, you did, John,” Colonel Lauriston agreed.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“You’ll have to fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh keep good watch
on her to see she don’t up and run off on you. Girls in
love are varmints.-I’ll tell you. — Let Little Joe
come and take care of her. She’ll soon learn to like him
and before long they can get married. He can guard her
from running off, too.”
“Oh, God, to think that it would come to this!” ex-
claimed Colonel Lauriston. “To think that I would have
to set a watch over a child of mine to keep her from harm-
ing herself and bringing disgrace on all of us.”
“It’s fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh her own good, Park. Better
fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh to guard her and marry her off to Little
Joe than fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh have the other thing,” stam-
mered Old John Marley sententiously.
Colonel Lauriston looked long at the speaker, his dis-
gust at the proposition causing him to writhe more and
more inwardly. At last he spoke.
“John, I almost hate you.” He stood and walked a
short distance away then returned and continued, “but I
guess I’ll have to give in. Lida will balk.”
“Fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh what do you fuh-fuh-tuh care? My
John ain’t a scarecrow.”
“No. — Neither is a porpoise,” Colonel Lauriston com-
mented drily, looking at Old John’s bulk. The latter
merely gave a slight gesture with his hands.
“John needn’t annoy her — and he won’t. He'll just
be around handy when she’s out walking or riding.”
Colonel Lauriston thought a moment then spoke. “John
may not like the idea himself.”
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“He’ll like it well enough. He likes Lida now more than
ever and will know how to manage it. Let the two run
together a few days and you’ll see.”
“Very well,” Colonel Lauriston agreed.
“He fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh wants to marry Lida and when I
fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh tell him that she wants to fuh-fuh-
fuh-tuh throw herself away on a nigger he'll be mad
fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh enough to kill for her. You just fuh-fuh-
fuh-fuh-tuh leave that to me.”
Colonel Lauriston walked away from the man, his head
bowed in silence. Old John lifted his three hundred
weight from the creaking seat and waddled to his carriage
and was soon driving away.
Left to herself, Lida continued in her room for the re-
mainder of the day weeping for her lover to come to her
aid. She refused all nourishment and comfort offered by
her maid, Chloe. It was far into the night when she final-
ly grew calm and her eyes closed in fitful slumber.
When she awoke the following day she was ill from wor-
ry and weeping. For a long time she lay tossing in bed,
fever of anguish burning her soul. Through all her tor-
ture she revolved plans for escaping and returning to the
North and Truman. She knew it was no longer possible
to get a letter through, since she was convinced her father
would take care that no mail left the house without his
inspection.
While she was still puzzling over her predicament the
maid entered the room with tea and toast. The aroma of
the tea and the odor of the freshly made toast tempted
her appetite.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
for walking. She descended to the first floor expecting to
meet her father and another storm but he was absent.
Glad of the respite from further scenes she passed to the
veranda and down the steps to the drive and started to-
ward the road. She had just reached the gate and turned
toward the woods a half mile away where her brook
tossed its waters over the falls when she looked up to see
young John Marley approaching, hat in hand.
“Howdy, Lida. — I s'pose I should call you Miss Lida
but you’ve always been Lida to me.”
The girl paused in the middle of the white sanded road,
wonder in her eyes that she should be meeting anyone so
suddenly at this time in the day, a sun bonnet swinging
in her hand. She resented the tone in which she was ad-
dressed; she resented also his appearing at such an inop-
portune time.
“I thought you were working,” was her comment.
“I thought I'd pay you a call,” Marley explained.
“Without being asked?” Lida queried.
“Neighbors don’t usually have to ask, about here do
they?”
“If they call in the heat of the day. Besides, I’m in no
mood for company today, Mr. Marley.” Lida started to
walk on.
“Mr. Marley now, is it?” he asked. “It used to be
John and Lida. I wish it could be so still.”
“The wish is not mutual. Besides if you’d respect a
lady's wishes and want to know what those wishes are
it is to be alone.”
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“Sorry, can't oblige you. I want to talk to you and
this is a good opportunity.”
“We’ve nothing in common, Mr. Marley and a gentleman
will not annoy a lady with his presence when his presence
is undesired. I may as well be frank with you. – Yours
is.”
“Well, I’m here and I’m going to have my say. I’ve
known you ever since a boy and always liked you. I like
you more now and want to marry you. Lida, I want you
for my wife.”
“So this is a proposal, is it? Despite objections.”
“Your father doesn't object.”
“No, but I do— and I’m the principal. Besides, I don’t
love you and never will, never could for that matter. And
another thing, I’m in love with someone else. Engaged
to him.”
“I know all about that. You’ll never marry him. —
Never have a chance. No use trying. — They won’t let
you off this place.”
“Won’t let me off? Who'll stop me?” she asked as she
stamped her foot angrily.
“I won’t for one,” Marley stated. “I’m going to watch
to see you don't.”
“You call that the act of a gentleman — you call that
the act of love, do you?”
“Yes, it’s to save you from yourself.”
“Oh, you’re just offering yourself as a victim to save
me from marrying the one I love!” she exclaimed indig-
nantly.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
Before he could utter a word she swung her hand to his
face with a resounding smack. “Take that, you insulting
wretch.” Marley clapped his hand to the reddening spot
on his face and looked at the girl in blank surprise for a
moment. In that instant Lida turned and started back
for the house, realizing that to go to the cave which had
been her secret place of comfort for years would be to dis-
close it.
As soon as Marley recovered he bounded to her side
biting his lips to control his anger.
“You’ll not marry me, eh — I insult you, eh? Well,
you’ll never marry anyone else much less your white nig-
ger and if he comes down here we’ll kill him — and you
too.” When Lida looked at him too indignant for words,
he continued: “I know all about it. I’ve been told. I’ll
not let you out of my sight.”
With her eyes blazing as with anger of an Amazon, Lida
faced him and pointed down the road and across the fields
to the Marley home. Neither said a word. Her lips were
drawn across her teeth in such tensity of emotion as to
make them bloodlessly white. Marley could withstand
the gaze no longer. He turned and walked away. Lida
returned to the house and her room. She fervently wished
for some way to escape.
Both she and her father seemed to avoid each other for
the next few days, though at night she could hear Colonel
Lauriston pacing the floor of his room or the veranda till
far into the night. Each time she attempted to walk about
the place she soon discovered that Marley was on hand
2I4


CHAPTER XXII
Orangeburg and all sections of Lexington County, by
tradition, custom and every other habit-forming agency
still clung to one rural institution. This was “Big Mon-
day,” the first Monday in every month. All matters were
reckoned from this day. It was the day when bills were
paid and contracts were renewed; when the farmers and
planters went to town to sell their produce. It was also
the day of horse trading.
(Sometimes night long journeys by those who lived dis-
tances away and whose means of travel were slow moving
mules or oxen was the rule.) From all along the main
roads leading into Orangeburg, however, according to the
distances from the city, caravan after caravan, joined the
procession to arrive by early morning. From every side
road there streamed into the main artery teams of all
descriptions city bound. Along the sides of the road as
daylight approached, and the vicinity of the city was
reached, could be seen various campers. Negroes and
whites in their various groups, sometimes asleep, some-
times sitting by camp fires. The more wealthy of the
farmers, who could afford faster vehicles, such as auto-
mobiles and fast stepping teams disdained to break their
night's rest by such early starts. They all planned to be
on hand during the day, however, and would never miss.
Stores made ready for a rushing business in all kinds of
trade till late in the afternoon. Extra clerks were hired
and counters were loaded with goods, of all descriptions.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
planters, discuss crop conditions and banter jokes. De-
spite his erudition and the fact that he had espoused the
profession of teaching he was still at heart a southern
planter, revelling in the ways of the planter, talking cot–
ton and corn and wheat and “nigger farm hands.”
It was anticipation of this enjoyment that Professor
Armstrong awoke, looked out of his window upon the day,
and was glad. He was happy to whistling when taking
his bath, whistling softly, however, so as not to disturb
other sleepers. His toilet ended he descended to the piaz-
za which stretched before the front of the hotel, surveyed
the rows of empty chairs and stepped across the street
to the various groups of farmers.
By some he was known and greeted familiarly, by
others he was unknown till he made some comment on the
weather, their crops or their equipage. The southern
planter never stands on ceremony. Everyone speaks to
everyone else and when once conversation was begun all
barriers between men were down, and Professor Arm-
strong was soon the center of a laughing, handshaking
jolly group of farmers.
After an hour or more spent in making the rounds of
the courthouse, Professor Armstrong realized it was
breakfast time and turned to the hotel dining room. He
entered the room and was about to seat himself when his
glance was directed across the room to one of the side
tables where the pose of a diner presented a certain fa-
miliarity to him. He gazed for a moment, then exclaimed,
under his breath, “Dr. Tansey. Well, well!” With that
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
“I still can’t see why white men should fight over ‘nig-
gers.” We fought over them once. I don’t think they’re
worth bothering with to that extent any more.”
“Same old Armstrong,” exclaimed Dr. Tansey. “Dear
fellow it’s not a question of fighting over them. It’s fight-
ing for the right. And we'll always fight for the right till
the right triumphs. And right will never triumph until
every man, woman and child in America, regardless of
race, color or creed or circumstance has a fair and a square
deal. The American conscience will never let the question
lie still. Might does not make right any more than two
and one make five. It is this instinct of America that
makes her great. The desire for and the determination to
be right. America will never be right till the wrong of
color prejudice is eradicated and all men get justice.”
“Why bother with them. I can’t see. They’re a bur-
den to the country. They’re lazy and worthless, unre-
liable and shiftless.”
“Who made them so, if all is as you say. Where's the
blame? You know, as you make the statements, how-
ever, that they are false — as false as fool’s gold. Where
would your wealth be if you did not have them to work
your fields? If you did not have them to cheat? How
long can you or would you work in the hot sun of this
land to till your fields. – About two hours. You call them
shiftless yet they’re amassing much property despite
handicaps faced by no other group. I see lots of evidences
of it right around me here. You call them unreliable,
they were reliable enough to take care of your lands and
22O
{{
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
families when your fathers went to war to keep them in
slavery. — No, Armstrong, your statements are all false
and misleading. These people are a vast asset to the
South and some day the South will realize it. Perhaps too
late.
“If the South could only see it,” Dr. Tansey continued,
“if you could only see it you would try to make the best
citizens possible out of them; encourage them to become
better citizens, make their living conditions better, their
health conditions better and their moral conditions bet-
ter.”
“Moral conditions. Ha-ha-ha. That’s a joke. They
have no morals.”
“Tut-tut-tut. The shoe's on the other foot. And sup-
pose they had no morals, who has set them the example
for centuries?”
“The southern white man is the most moral on this
hemisphere. He is the preserver of civilization — of
Anglo-Saxon purity of race.”
“Don’t talk rashness, Armstrong. Don’t talk rashness.
The very complexion of your town belies you. The com-
plexion of every southern town or city belies that state-
ment. Don’t talk balderdash.”
“We protect the purity of our women,” boasted Pro-
fessor Armstrong.
“Yes, at the expense of the purity of another race.
That is not preserving race purity. The purity of your
women needs no protection, it is the purity of southern
manhood that needs protection and the purity of black
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
women. When out of twleve million black persons in this
land more than a third of them are of mixed blood, the
white southern man ought to hang his head in shame.
You've not an argument to support you and the best thing
to do is to set about righting the wrongs done, then con-
science will be free. First set your own house in order
and all things will be added.”
“You’re talking a lot of theories,” Professor Armstrong
gestured. “We, down here, are faced with the practical
workings out of life. If you want to see real conditions,
you have the best chance in the world today. Today is
court day. Come with me. Court will just be sitting
when we will have finished.”
“I’ll be delighted. I have often wanted to get into the
midst of this question.”
“All right, you’ll see.”
Professor Armstrong was right. By the time they fin-
ished breakfast and prepared themselves for the street,
those having business with the arm of South Carolina law,
as administered in Orangeburg, were just assembling. A
steady stream of persons were passing through the court-
yard gates and assembling in the building. Armstrong
and Dr. Tansey joined them. Once in the building they
continued with the crowd seeking the municipal criminal
session, held in an old-fashioned high vaulted room, un-
changed since the structure was first built. In fact the
courthouse looked back on a very respectable antiquity
of slave trading.
Almost all the seats in the already stifling, stuffy court
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were taken. Over in the corner near the “pen” Professor
Armstrong sighted two vacant seats and worked his way
to them, aided by one of the sheriffs.
The day was sultry, with a stagnant, drowsy, sleepy
air pervading the room despite the fact that the windows
were wide open. Men and women of all colors and in
various stages of undress, some exuding the odor of
sweaty clothes, some of tobacco smoke, filled the place.
The negroes huddled into one corner, some of them, torn
straw hats in their hands, trousers suspended by one
string, some barefoot and others with dilapidated shoes on,
while here and there in the crowd was a rather better
dressed, man or woman, mulatto or black, all puffing,
fanning and panting with the excitement. Dr. Tansey
noted in a corner near the judge's desk a block platform
and above it shackles, reminding him of the auction block
of slavery days.
About them bustled a colored court runner or a lawyer
looking after a client. The better class colored person
was defended by some white lawyer friend, the smaller
cases being attended to by men of their own race. Dr.
Tansey and Armstrong had just time enough to take in
the scene when a tall lanky sheriff, arose, pounded his
desk and droned, “The Cote.” All who were seated
stood.
Justice was speedy. Invariably, in the minor cases
where whites, mostly young men, involved in brawls and
small offenses, they were reprimanded, warned and freed.
When all these except one or two were disposed of, the
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
cases of the Negroes were called. Most of these were
more trivial than the others, being accusations of loitering,
vagrancy, pettit larceny and brawling. Invariably sen-
tences of differing lengths to the chain gang were meted
out to them. Appeals were useless. Usually after a woe—
begone look, a hopeless pleading with eyes for sympathy
and leniency they were mercilessly sent to the chain gang,
from where they were paroled to the various farms. Thus
Dr. Tansey surmised, were the farm hands recruited.
Invariably they were allowed but a few words when
asked to plead guilty or not.
“Boss, Yer Honoh,” they would start, “I didn’t do
nothing.
“Thirty days in the gang,” would be the interruption
of the judge.
The court room was almost cleared of cases. In the
rear of the restricted side of the room, huddled into a
small group were four colored persons, one a young girl,
who was weeping silently, two elderly persons, a man
and a woman, and a young brown skinned youth, tall and
rugged, manly and clean looking. In fact the group was
in decided contrast to the prisoners making up court
cases, disposition of which the two men had witnessed.
At intervals the old woman would lean tenderly over the
weeping girl to comfort her. The man sat grimly watch-
ing the judge, his face muscles as taut as graven images,
his arms folded across his breast, a veritable Ethiopian
sphinx.
The judge, a rather florid, puffing, medium sized per-
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The judge was about to rise from his chair when from
the rear of the room a woman's voice rang out. “Just a
minute, Your Honor.” The judge sat erect with a snap as
if jerked up by some rope. Dr. Tansey and Professor
Armstrong turned quickly to note the speaker. The
young woman, for such it was, was advancing toward the
bar, her eyes blazing, her finger pointing menacingly at
the judge. Several bailiffs started for her as if to protect
the judge.
“Your Honor,” she said, “do I understand that you are
letting this man off with a fine on a charge of this kind.
A crime against a woman of my race would be called rape.
Is not this rape, also? I was in the adjoining room when
this girl was attacked. I heard the threats he made and
the struggle when he forced her to his will. I demand he
be prosecuted as any other criminal.
“This is a court— supposedly a court of justice,” she
continued. “If there ever was an injustice — if there ever
was a travesty — if there ever was a farce it is the way
this case is disposed of.”
“Are you an attorney?”
“No, I’m not. Would to God I were. I’m human,
though, and I come from a section where human beings
are treated like human beings and brutes like brutes re-
gardless of color.”
“Are you interested in this case?”
“Yes, I’m interested, and I’ll see it through.”
“Your name, please.”
“Louise Comstock.”
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“Well, Louise, you say you’re from a different neck of
the woods. I presume from the North. — Well, here’s a
bit of advice. Go back North to your mother's kitchen
and don’t go meddling in affairs that don’t concern you.
Court’s dismissed.”
With that the judge gathered his books and papers and
stepped from the bench toward his room. The girl’s face
was flushed to the color of a blush rose with confusion and
indignation at the treatment accorded her. She stood, a
blaze of anger, watching the judge retire, fierce impreca-
tions in her soul.
“You shame the name of womanhood!” was all she
could venture to say. Dr. Tansey was just stepping to-
ward her to calm her anger and advise her that her in-
dignation was carrying her too far, when Professor Arm-
strong noted the girl who had been wronged.
“My God,” he exclaimed. “Ione Felding!” Then he
turned to Dr. Tansey. “Doctor, that’s the daughter of my
laundry woman. Judge — Judge—” he started for the
door through which the judge had departed. “Judge,”
he shouted, “come back here.” Then thinking of the
young white man who had perpetrated the outrage, he
turned to look for him. “Where's the young dog,” he
said. Where's the young dog?”
Louise Comstock went over to the group of colored
people. She took the girl's hand. “Never mind,” she
comforted, though realizing how lame and hollow the
words must sound in the girl’s ears. “Never mind, I’ll
take you away from this land where you’ll have protec-
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
tion.” The girl was weeping freely now on her mother's
shoulder. The father's tongue seemed to be freed and he
was pronouncing bitter curses against the land. The
scene was so distressing that Dr. Tansey felt an ungov-
ernable desire to get away from it. Grabbing Professor
Armstrong by the hand he almost pulled him to the door.
“Come on,” he urged, “Let’s get out of here!”
They were just in time to see the young man Trafford
stepping from the gate at the end of the short walk to the
sidewalk. He was smiling brightly at the successful ter-
mination of his episode. He had just reached the side-
walk, however, when there stepped from behind one of
the teams hitched near, the young colored man who had
been comforting the girl in the court room. Trafford
looked up into the eyes of the young man with a tri-
umphant smile and started to pass on. The young colored
man stepped up to him, however, and without a word of
warning struck Trafford a blow that sent him reeling
against the picket fence, dazed for an instant by the sur-
prise of the attack.
The assailant started after him again to continue the
assault when a dozen men, who had been in a group near-
by rushed to Trafford’s aid. The young colored man saw
them coming, however, and met the first to reach him with
a blow that sent the rescuer also tottering away. Before
the attack could be carried further, two police officers
rushed in, fighting their way through the now gathering
crowd and placed the colored man under arrest, rushing
him through the yard of the courthouse, into the building
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BY SANCTION OF LAW
the nigger's girl. He's always doing that. Lot of the
young hellions are doing that — sewing their wild oats.
Guess we’ve all done it more or less. Pooh! That’s
nothin'. As long as there's a good looking nigger girl
about there’ll be white boys hunting for them. It’s fair
game too.”
Such was the drift of the conversation heard by Arm-
strong and Dr. Tansey as they stood a little aside from
the crowd studying the group.
“By God, I’ll see that that thing stops,” swore Pro-
fessor Armstrong. “Tansey, I know that girl and her
whole family. Good people too — law abiding, and bring-
ing their children up right and according to law. Her
mother’s been my laundry woman and the laundry wom-
an of my family for years. — Poor, of course, and simple
— but law abiding and honest.”
Dr. Tansey was tempted to say, “This is some of your
southern justice and right,” but remained silent.
The two men were still within the yard of the court-
house when a squad of police arrived and dispersed the
crowd. There was some show of resistance for a brief
time, here and there being heard mutterings of anger
against the Negro, but soon the street was tranquil and the
ordinary business of Big Monday resumed. Dr. Tansey
and Armstrong walked across the street to the piazza of
their hotel. As they neared the door they heard a group
of men just leaving a store inquire of two standing at the
edge of the curbing:
“What was the trouble over there?” indicating the spot
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across the street where the crowd had gathered.
“Don’t know, exactly. Somebody said a nigger insulted
a white woman.”
“What d'you know about that!” exclaimed the first
speaker. “Times are getting awful — Time to call a halt.
They ought to be run out of town — Did they get the
nigger?”
“Yes, he's in jail.”
“Good time for a necktie party, eh — teach them a les-
son.”
“Hanging's too good for them. They’re worthless, no
good and a burden anyway. Thanks — See you later.”
The group separated.
23 I


CHAPTER XXIII
Dr. Tansey and Professor Armstrong had just seated
themselves when they noticed, coming from the court-
house, Louise Comstock.
“I’ve seen that young woman somewhere but can’t place
her,” said Dr. Tansey.
“Yes, I recognize her too — I’ve met her somewhere —
I don’t know where.”
Louise inclined her head slightly as she passed them,
remembering that they were in the courthouse when she
made her plea. As she bowed, both men raised their hats
and Dr. Tansey approached.
“Pardon me. I seem to have met you somewhere but
can’t say where. It was good of you to defend that poor
creature today.”
Louise extended her hand. “I know you. You're Dr.
Tansey — at the college — and this is Professor Arm-
strong. I also know you. I’ve seen you many times
while I was at Miss Gregory’s school. Being but a school
girl, you paid no attention to me.”
“Oh, you’re one of Miss Gregory's girls, are you? I
was quite sure I knew you. — You’re a long way from
home, though, I may say. — You’re not a southern girl,”
Professor Armstrong observed.
“My people are from the south originally but I was
born North and have lived there all my life. I came South
to study conditions a little this summer and was prepar-
ing to visit a friend of mine, Miss Lida Lauriston.”
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melt a heart of stone. He threatened her with setting the
mob on her for assaulting him; threatened to have her
father hung and finally used force. I didn’t realize what
was happening till he had gone and left the girl crying.
I went to her and found her in a pitiable heap. It was I
who insisted on arrest. But what good did it do? They
lynch colored men for far less than that.”
Both men hung their heads in silence as she passed in-
to the hotel and to her room, her eyes still filled and over-
flowing with tears. The street had entirely regained its
serenity now and the sun was high in the heavens. Dr.
Tansey was the first to break silence.
“Let’s have luncheon,” he said. Professor Armstrong
was agreeable and the two men passed into the dining
room. Following the meal each passed to his room for a
nap, as is the custom in the South during the heated
portion of the summer days, at least for those who have
the leisure. It was late in the afternoon when Professor
Armstrong, freshened from his sleep and a bath, knocked
on Dr. Tansey’s door.
“Awake, Doctor?” he asked.
“Yes, come in,” the Doctor invited.
“Hope you’re rested.”
“Feeling fine.”
“Doctor,” began Professor Armstrong. “I’ve been
thinking over things since I left you and believe I’m be-
ginning to see them differently. This affair of Ione Feld-
ing's this morning came pretty close home to me. Man,
I’ve known that family ever since I could toddle. Her
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older sister, who's married is just about my age. — Ione
is younger.”
“She certainly was a pathetic bit of humanity, there in
the court room this morning.”
“Yes, she was, and the way those eyes of hers appealed
to me in their dumb brown helplessness when she saw me!
I tell you, Man, I’ll never forget them. Trafford didn’t
get half what he deserved from that fellow.”
“What can you do about it now?”
“There's nothing to be done about it now. But I’m
beginning to believe that conditions that permit such
things with such ease are not right.”
“Keep on. That's Old Man Conscience working on you.
Follow him and he’ll set you right too.”
“No, I think it’s the personal interest I have in the
girl.”
“Old Man Conscience, just the same,” Dr. Tansey
shook his head sadly. “He won’t let you rest nor will
he let the American people rest till right is right and jus-
tice and fairness obtain for all. — Now you can under-
stand why men battle for right. Once get Old Man Con-
science to work and give him any sort of free play then
any question is safely solved.”
The sun was now hanging far over in the western sky
and evening approaching. From the window of the room
in which the two men sat could be seen the tall cold
angular stone and masonry jail, across the other house
tops, with its iron-barred windows standing out in bold
relief, cutting a vivid outline in the otherwise crimsoning
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sky. Dr. Tansey looked from the window to the jail.
The eyes of Professor Armstrong followed his.
“And to think,” continued the latter, “That poor fellow
cooped up somewhere in there for trying to protect his
own.”
“Keep on, keep on, Conscience — you’re gaining,”
thought Dr. Tansey, though he made no comment.
Before he could frame any satisfactory comment a bell-
boy rapped on the door and reached in with the after-
noon papers. Dr. Tansey took one in a casual manner,
offering another to Professor Armstrong.
“What an infernal lie!” exclaimed Dr. Tansey. “What
a hellish, fiendish lie!”
Professor Armstrong looked from his paper to the face
of the Doctor, waiting for explanation. Dr. Tansey held
the paper he was reading toward his friend.
“Look at that. — Look at that!”
Professor Armstrong glanced at the publication held
before him. In glaring head lines letters fully six inches
deep, fairly screamed the words:
“WHITE GIRL ASSAULTED
Negro under arrest
Riot narrowly averted on Main Street
Shortly before noon by arrest of man charged with Crime
Threats of lynching followed
White Populace in angry mood may seize jail at Sundown,
Talk, burn prisoner and entire Negro section heard.”
Then followed a harrowing story purporting to tell of
the assault. Dr. Tansey began reading the narrative in-
dignantly.
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
read a paper like this and they don’t approve of the
wrongs done to black people. They’ll arise and assert
themselves sometime. Give them time.—Give them time.”
“Meanwhile all manner of hell’s to pay, eh? If there
starts a riot tonight where will your better class whites be?
Safe in their homes. If a Negro is caught armed, he'll be
shot down. White rioters will be given every freedom for
sway of their bestiality, however. They will be able to
shoot down Negroes with impunity.”
“Oh, don’t be so hard on us, Old Man. We’re not all
bad.”
“That’s true, Armstrong. Pardon me. I forgot. Let’s
go down to the piazza. Perhaps I exaggerate.”
Suiting action to words the two men descended. The
piazza was crowded. Twilight was fast coming on, and
here and there a star began twinkling in the red gold sky.
Along the streets preparations were being made to light
lamps, while Negro workers, were hurrying to their homes,
anxious, worried looks on their faces, fear in their hearts.
They had been warned by the police and were eagerly
heeding the warning. There was an ominous silence en-
veloping the city. Hotel guests as well as others seemed
to sense it. Few words were being spoken and these in
undertones from neighbor to neighbor. Everyone was
restless, the very air was depressing and mysteriously
heavy.
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CHAPTER XXIV
Along the street, as darkness closed in, a light flashed
here and there from post to post. In the square, about the
courthouse the electric lights sputtered and spifft, flicker-
ing intermittently till the carbons had adjusted themselves,
as the current was turned on, until finally the entire square
was a brilliant blaze. Now a lone horseman passed gallop-
ing down the main thoroughfare, sitting stiffly in the sad-
dle, his hat down low over his forehead. Shortly he was
seen to return accompanied by another horseman. Two
police officers in uniform passed along the front of the
hotel swinging their night sticks, also silently. The sun
had now gone and the stars were out, the milky way show-
ing almost so brightly with its sprays of stars, as to seem
to cast a shadow along the street.
Now groups of silent figures were seen walking past
the hotel. Most of them went in the same direction.
Again there passed several more horsemen, all silent.
Singly and in pairs some of the guests at the hotel who
were sitting on the piazza arose and either entered the
hotel or sauntered down the street in the direction the
other walking groups had taken.
Dr. Tansey turned to Professor Armstrong. “Profes-
sor, there's something mysterious in the air. I feel it.”
“So do I — something uncanny. I don’t like it. It’s
almost ghostly. Ever hear southern ghost stories?”
“No.”
“Well, they tell many a one about here. — Make your
24O


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
hair stand on end, some of them. — Stories of old Civil
War days, or pre-slavery days. The blacks used to tell
them to me and I tell you they made me feel creepy.
That’s just the way this night is making me feel.”
Suddenly from down the street in the direction in which
the crowd had gone there rang out on the night air a shot.
All the air was quiet for a second except for the echo of
the shot reverberating across the night sky. Those re-
maining on the piazza keyed their senses to the situation,
listening expectantly. Two more shots in succession and
then a fusilade greeted them. At that Professor Arm-
strong leaped to his feet:
“My God!” he whispered. “A lynching.”
Dr. Tansey also leaped up, still listening. The minds of
both men were filled with events of the morning. “This
must not be. That man is innocent, Armstrong. Inno-
cent,” he exclaimed, catching the purport of Professor
Armstrong’s words and realizing the truth of them. “We
must stop them before it is too late. Come, Armstrong.”
“Hold on a minute,” warned Armstrong. “We’d better
not get mixed into this thing.”
“Get mixed into it. Man, you know the truth. All this
comes from that paper’s story.”
“Yes, but you don’t know the temper of a southern
mob.”
“Where’re your best men now? They ought to be
heading this thing off. Get a few of them from some-
where. Do something! Do something! Come on!”
“Wait a minute. If you must go, better be armed. You
24. I


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
can’t tell what’ll happen,” cautioned Professor Armstrong.
“Have you a revolver?” Reaching into his rear pocket
Professor Armstrong drew from its holster a blue steeled
six-shooter. “Here, take this. I’ll get one from my room.
Wait for me.”
“Hurry then, we may be too late as it is.”
Professor Armstrong was gone but a matter of seconds
but it seemed like ages to Dr. Tansey. They were the
only persons remaining on the piazza now. While wait-
ing for Professor Armstrong's return, Dr. Tansey’s mind
travelled over miles of distances and there flashed before
his memory many scenes through which he had lived, re-
viewing them with a vividness never before known to him.
They all traced in succession to the present time, ending
with the picture of this man being strung up to a tree, his
life sacrificed to the mob spirit, an innocent victim of their
fury. Though impatient for Professor Armstrong to join
him there was no trace of excitement in his system, every
act, every thought, every motion of muscle was impressive-
ly deliberate.
“Hurry!” he urged as Professor Armstrong returned.
Down the street they started following the direction in
which the crowd had gone. They had but reached River
Street when they ran headlong into a mass of seething,
rushing, scrambling humanity. Where had all these peo-
ple come from so silently and in such numbers. There
were young men, old men, middle aged men, women,
girls and boys in the crowd which was now for the first
time showing signs of boisterousness. To Dr. Tansey the
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The man addressed turned a long look of surprised
inquiry at Dr. Tansey. After a long scrutiny he asked:
“Protect a nigger prisoner? Who ever heard of such a
thing.”
Before any reply could be made the two men walking
the prisoner between them came down the human aisle.
The boy’s eyes were wide and staring with fright. One
white man on each side grasped an arm firmly. The boy
looked pleadingly from one face to another as he passed.
There was no pity there. They spat at him instead.
Some kicked at him front and rear. Some tried to strike
him. As the leaders made a circle about him under a tall
elm with wide overhanging branches, Dr. Tansey heard
the boy say, in prayer, “Oh, God. You know I’m inno-
cent. Save me.”
Dr. Tansey was jostled away before he could hear
more. He had satisfied himself, however, that this was
the same youth he had seen in the courthouse in the morn-
ing. To confirm his conclusion he turned to Professor
Armstrong, “That’s the same young man?” he asked.
Professor Armstrong replied in the affirmative by nodding
his head. Before more could be said a sea of twisted,
leering, white faces closed in about the group. Exultant,
blood-hungry yells, menacing and terrible rang in the
prisoner’s ears. Fiery eyes now glared at him, shrill, rau-
cous voices cursed him and hands seeming like long bony
talons seemed to reach for his throat.
“Get a rope. — Get a torch. — Get a light’ood knot,”
were directions shouted. Dr. Tansey could stand no more.
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He mounted the steps of the courthouse near which he
stood, looked over the madly yelling crowd which was
fast getting from under control of the leaders.
“Men,” he shouted. For a moment his voice attracted
them and there was a hush. He seized the advantage.
“That man is innocent,” he shouted.
“The devil he is. We know. The papers told the story.
We know.” They shouted him down. He tried again.
“That man is innocent,” he shouted at the top of his
lungs. They paid no heed to him.
“Lynch him. Lynch him,” shouted a hundred voices.
“Burn him. Burn him like the dog he is,” shouted others.
The crowd had now become one struggling, seething mass.
Men with ropes had arrived. Insanity reigned. Into the
very midst of the raging group sprang Dr. Tansey, re-
volver drawn. Professor Armstrong, now having con-
cluded to help the youth followed the Doctor. They
fought their way to the side of the youth. A dozen hands
were reaching for the rope which was now about the
young man's neck, eager to swing him into eternity. Four
hands grabbed it.
“Don’t touch that rope,” commanded Dr. Tansey, his
eyes blazing, his revolver drawn. The action was so sud-
den and surprising the four men drew back for a second.
Other hands, however, grabbed the rope. Recovering
from their surprise the four men rained blows on Dr.
Tansey, under which he was falling when he suddenly
clutched the trigger of his revolver. As he shot, the body
of the boy was pulled high into the air. A hundred shots
2
245


BY SAN CTION OF LAW
rang out and the body was riddled with bullets, by those
without the inner circle.
While they were shooting the body full of bullets, four
men were beating Dr. Tansey to the ground. Professor
Armstrong grabbed the falling man and pushed the crowd
back. The mob was blood-mad by now and cared not
whom it seized. Professor Armstrong was now fighting
to save his friend, forgetting the riddled body swinging
back and forth from the limb of the tree, neck broken and
life gone. He was just in time to drag the sinking body
of Dr. Tansey to safety when he heard a screeching and
screaming on the outskirts of the crowd.
Professor Armstrong paused in the act of laying the
body of Dr. Tansey on the ground to see what the new
commotion was about. As he raised himself, an unearthly
weird and mournful screech greeted his ears.
“Save me! Save me!” screamed a woman’s voice. It
was Mailie Felding, elder sister of Ione, who, nearing
childbirth, could not rest at home, feeling that some awe-
some thing was happening. Following the crowd from
the jail at some distance, she paused transfixed with
fright and terror at the courtyard to witness the lynching
and had been discovered by some of the mob.
“Here’s another nigger,” they shouted. “Lynch her.
Lynch the minx, before she gives birth to another brute,”
they shouted noting her condition.
Professor Armstrong saw the wild look on the girl’s
face but recognized who she was. “By God, they’ll never
do that monstrous thing,” he murmured.
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“Save me. Somebody save me. I ain’t done nothin’.
Help! Save me!” she screamed.
“I’m coming, Mailie,” Professor Armstrong answered
as he plunged fighting now like a demon, into the mob.
He was shooting as he came. Man after man fell. He
paused not to see whether they were dead or only wound-
ed. His revolver, however, was soon emptied. He strug-
gled on using the weapon as a club. He reached the girl
but before he could lay a hand on her she swooned away
and he was knocked unconscious.
Up her body was jerked with a snap that broke the
spinal cord with a loud noise. Those who had been fight-
ing Professor Armstrong, now madly called for a rope for
him. He was still unconscious from the blow when a rope
was pulled about his neck and about to be thrown over a
limb also. In that moment, however, one of the leaders
cuffed the men who were pulling the rope. “That’s a
white man. Durn you. Don’t you see.” He swung his
fists right and left, at the same time repeating, “That’s a
white man. That’s a white man.” His blows and his
words finally penetrated into the brains of the attackers
and they allowed the rope to be pulled down from the
limb of the tree. The man who rescued Professor Arm-
strong carried him along up the courthouse steps and into
the corridor of the building. There he left the uncon-
scious form and again joined the mob which had by now
lost all semblance of sense. They were trampling all over
the spot, pushing, jostling and fighting. As they swayed,
a hundred feet passed over the body of Dr. Tansey,
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BY SAN CTION OF LAW
This gasolene storage was the first barrier reared by the
Negroes to protect their property. A little further in,
where the better class dwellings were located a number
of them, heavily armed had gathered, determined to sell
their souls and their property at as great a cost to the at-
tackers as possible. A race war impended. Luckily the
inspiration of the gasolene warning had sufficed to sober
the crowd and they were slowly dispersed.
Back in the courthouse Professor Armstrong awoke to
consciousness to find a death-like stillness pervading. He
was puzzled. He felt at his side a cold wall. He
tried to think where he was, finally recalling the mob and
its struggle. From his proximity to the wall he thought
he must be in some vault, because of his lameness, left for
dead. He felt above him but could touch nothing. He
reached to his other side and touched only empty space.
Finally he raised himself to his hands and knees then de-
cided to follow the wall to its end. He brought up against
a blank wall as he went forward. He decided to try the
other direction. As he turned his hand came into contact
with a rope. He dropped it with a shiver. After crawl-
ing some distance he detected a streak of light. Coming
to this he felt about and discovered a door. Raising him-
self to a standing position he touched a knob, turned it
and opened the door. The glare of the street light dazzled
him for a moment. He blinked then stepped out.
A cold shiver ran up and down his spine as he looked
down and saw the rope, stretching from his body to the
floor, a noose end about his neck. He suddenly remem-
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bered all then. “My God, what a narrow escape!” he ex-
claimed. “Great God! And to think that this is Ameri-
ca — that this is the South.” He cast his eyes to the left
but turned them quickly away sickened at the view. The
two bodies, that of the boy and his sister, still swung from
the elm limb. He closed his eyes, his knees sagging. He
recovered himself, shortly. Then thought:
“Where's Dr. Tansey.” With the question he recalled
with vividness the fighting and the fact that he had borne
the stunned body of the Doctor to the side of the court-
house. He turned his face in that direction then fainted
dead away. Dr. Tansey’s body lay stretched out, the
clothing a mass of rags and tatters. All life crushed out,
flesh and clothing enmeshed in gore, with the trampling
of many feet — an horrible sight.
The view overwhelmed — sickened him. The horrible
truth of the gruesome tragedy enveloped him and he was
unable to stand. He slowly sank to a sitting position on
the steps, his head cupped in his hands. He was too dazed
and misery-stricken to think for a time. All he could see
was the wretchedly mangled body of what was once his
friend. A great pain gnawed with slow agony at his heart.
He wanted to weep but tears would not come; just this
deadly hurtful pain in his breast and the horrible pic-
tures of the past few hours burning themselves into his
consciousness.
For many minutes he sat mute, no sign of activity about
him save the slight rustling of the leaves in the trees. He
dared not look up, for even at the suggestion of the lift of
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swaying were as vivid to him as if the bright sun of day-
light was shining upon them.
After a few minutes’ struggle he mastered his nerves
and again opened his eyes. He started down the steps,
the rope pulling behind him. Frantically, fear in his heart,
he gripped and snatched it from about his neck and hurled
it from him where it fell on the dew-wet grass. He stag-
gered down the steps and started for his hotel. The ex-
ertion was too much for him, darkness came to his widely
staring eyes and oblivion into his mind. The last con-
scious moment he recalled afterward was an impression he
had of falling over a steep precipice — falling — falling —
falling!
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CHAPTER XXV
It was long after daybreak when the police relaxed
their vigilance in guarding the Negro district. There were
still smouldering flames in the small area which had been
burned. Despite the fact that all seemed quiet and as if
nothing had occurred, those of the colored population who
usually were astir before this hour and on their way to
their places of work refused to leave their homes.
In the downtown section, not a Negro could be seen and
the whites began to awake to the awfulness of the situa-
tion. Like a bad conscience on the morning after there
was feeling of remorse in some. Most of those who had
taken part in the mob, however, and their friends began to
visit the scene of their diabolical outbreak. There was no
remorse in them, however. They were prompted by sheer
curiosity. The newspapers carried stories of the night's
work but not the whole story. There was no mention of
Dr. Tansey or Professor Armstrong. The parts they
played came out later.
For the most part the crowd gathered on the sidewalk,
leaned against the railing and gazed at the swaying bodies
and the two lying on the grass — the one that of Dr. Tan-
sey, the other that of Professor Armstrong. They believed
that all four bodies must have been those of Negroes.
“I thought we lynched only two niggers,” remarked one
to a bystander.
“So did I. There are four bodies, though.”
“I only remember two,” said a third.
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One spirit, bolder than the others, now that the sun
was shining, started for the gate. “I want a piece of that
rope for a remembrance. I’ll show it to the next one of
them that gets fresh with me.”
“So do I. — So do I. — Me too,” various others re-
peated as they followed the leader into the yard prepar-
ing to cut ends from the dangling ropes. They had each
secured, a piece of the rope and started for the gate again
when, as they were passing the body of Professor Arm-
strong, the latter regained consciousness, opened his eyes,
turned over and started to rise. With a yell of fear the
four souvenir hunters tossed their bits of rope into the air
and ran.
Professor Armstrong staggered to his feet, looked wildly
at the retreating four as they broke through the crowd,
then cursed them.
“Cowards — brutes that you are. Run, you curs who
call yourselves men — white men at that. Behold your
work, and but for Providence I might have been one of
them, pointing to the general direction of the three bodies.
You don’t know what you’ve done. Killed three inno-
cent persons, one of them white, just to please your greed
for blood.
“Behold your work, you beasts. You’ve killed a white
man. — A real man — as well as two absolutely innocent
human beings. God will curse this town for this as He
will curse this whole land unless you change.”
With that he strode toward the gate. The crowd, in
awe, stood aside to allow a path through which he walked.
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Professor Armstrong crossed the street, haggard and hol-
low-eyed from his experiences, and made for his hotel.
“There’s a white man’s body over there in that yard,”
he said to the clerk at the desk, pointing to the court-
house. “A white man killed by that mob last night. Get
the body to some undertaking place.”
Orangeburg awoke in a remorseful mood. When the
better families, whose domestics had been frightened into
hiding during the night while the rioting was at its height,
failed to show up for work the first realization of what had
happened came to them. When their morning paper re-
counted the wild happenings of the night before and the
barbarity of the scenes they came to a greater realization.
When, however, an extra edition was cried into their faces,
announcing that one white man had been accidentally
killed by the mob, his body trampled on and mangled, the
horror of the affair sank into their souls.
It was well toward noon before the bodies were cut
down and removed from the courtyard. Not until after
Judge Gauvin had come to hold court and viewed the re-
mains. When he stood at the gate, about to enter, with
the crowd of morbid spectators gaping at the still swaying
bodies, he realized that the man and woman were innocent
also that he knew in his heart where the guilt lay, he hung
his head, after ordering the bodies removed.
His self control was so shaken by the gruesomeness of
the sight that he had recourse to his closet for stimulant,
which he always kept on hand. The body of Dr. Tansey
had been borne away early in the morning, soon after
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Professor Armstrong had notified the clerk. All day,
however, there was a continual crowd passing and re-
passing the spot, souvenir hunting, or just morbidly curi-
ous. The bodies of the Negroes were turned over to rela-
tives who prepared them for burial. As if in remorse,
some of the white families sympathetically offered the
stricken ones aid in their bereavement. But for the re-
mainder of the city business proceeded as if nothing un-
usual had occurred. Trafford was hurried out of town by
his family when it became noised about that he had been
the indirect cause of the tragedy.
Rev. Father Winsor Buntin in his little country parish,
as he read the story recalled the meeting with Dr. Tansey
in Charleston. His heart was heavy. He bowed his head
in meditation sitting in front of the little mission that had
been his home as well as the center of his work.
As he pictured the scene, he murmured, tears filling his
eyes: “Father forgive them, for they know not what they
do. How can men be so cruel,” he thought. “So brutal!
I must hurry into town. He was a stranger in a strange
land. I’ll pray for the repose of his soul.”
Arriving at Orangeburg, Father Buntin hurried to the
hotel and from there learned of the plans for the funeral.
Learning from Professor Armstrong that the body was to
be shipped North after a few simple exercises, he re-
quested that he be allowed to conduct the services.
“Gladly, Father. I was wondering whom I could get
to conduct the services.”
Professor Armstrong's legs were still shaky from his ex-
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swollen, rushing width, drove along till the water was al-
most awash with the hubs then reversed his levers and
started for the shallows again.
“Where’re you going?” asked Bennet showing impa-
tience.
“Can’t go through there, Mister.”
“Why you were almost half through then, I could see
the other bank.”
“Yes, but that was just where the stream was deepest.
It would have been over the motor before long.”
“Too bad. — Can’t we hurry?”
“Have to go 'roun, State Road way.”
“How far?”
“’Bout ten miles.”
Bennet groaned inwardly but sank back into his seat.
The machine purred its way along the State Road, when
once that was reached, and Bennet was content to watch
the panorama as field after field of crops passed in one
long kaleidoscopic view. This road took Bennet far over
by way of Fort Motte, over the long, red, clay hills and
winding roads between muddy fields of staple cotton and
swaying corn. Here and there was a group of huddled
dwellings about which little black, brown and yellow chil-
dren played, while their elders were to be seen in the fields,
hoeing the cotton or ploughing corn. Beyond Fort Motte
the roads became sandy and slow for motor vehicles.
It was late in the afternoon when the chauffeur turned
in his seat to say:
“We’re 'most there now. "Tain’t far now to Colonel
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pulled a gun and made the family turn back to the old
house.”
“Why didn't your friend go on to the new place?”
“Go on. Lordy. Ef he had gone on he’d a gone on
plumb into eternity. That white man would a shot up
that whole family and got scot free. — He’d a shot that
family to death then claimed he was assaulted and noth-
ing would a’ been done about it.
“Colored folks have got no rights out here,” he con-
tinued. “The young folks get restless and go away. The
old folks, born here, are afraid to move for fear of worse.
— They stay. They rent on shares or lease and the shares
never run up enough to pay bills, and so the leases never
run out.”
“You don’t mean to say the white landlords cheat.”
“Oh, no. They don’t cheat. The figures never run
right and the land never produces enough. You never
heard the saying, ‘ought’s a ought, and a figger’s a figger;
all fur the white man, none for the nigger.’ Well, that’s
about the way things run in the country. If a black man
questions the figures of his landlord, that black man is
impudent and must be put in his place, by the lash or the
bullet, or the rope. What can we do?”
Sensing the hopelessness of the question and the fu-
tility of an answer, Bennet remained silent. They had
just passed through a swampy stretch of roadway bor-
dered by a thick growth of gall berry bushes when sud-
denly there smote their ears a most unearthly scream. It
seemed, not like one in pain but more in fright and horror.
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Bennet reached over to the front seat and touched the
driver on the shoulder. They were just at a bend in the
road which hid them from a further view. The car was
throttled down and was but barely creeping along, both
men listening for the sound. Again the scream. This
time it sounded closer. At the same time there sounded,
as if in answer a long, low, half bellow, half groan, rising
to a crescendo of a siren fire alarm and then diminishing
till it ended in something like the distant roar of a lion.
Bennet began to feel creepy. He thought of hyenas and
other wild animals, then recalled that he had never heard
of any such inhabiting this section of the country. He
reached for the revolver, Dr. Tansey had forced him to
carry. The black chauffeur, frightened at first, regained
his composure, turned in his seat and whispered:
“Alligator!”
Before Bennet could reply again came the screams of
fright, like that of a frightened woman. Bennet thought
it must come from some animal caught by the alligator
and was being devoured. They had just turned the curve
of the road, the machine in low, when a horrible sight
greeted them. In the middle of the road stood an elderly
white woman, a bonnet thrown back from her head. Her
eyes horror-stricken with fright. While some forty feet in
front of her, disputing the roadway was a young alligator,
about seven feet long, jaws wide open, showing rows of
ferocious fangs, his body lifted from the ground by its feet.
Every time the woman turned to retreat the reptile opened
its jaws wider and bellowed. When she faced it, however,
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it refused to leave the road on which it had been surprised
and beat the road into dust clouds with its tail. The wom-
an was so frightened she failed to hear the machine come
up behind her.
Before Bennet realized what the chauffeur was doing,
the latter had stepped from the car and was seeking a
piece of wood with which to frighten the reptile from the
road. Bennet, however, noted a towing rope in the bot-
tom of the car and thinking he would like to have a live
specimen to take with him North, stepped from the car,
rope in hand.
The woman was just about to scream again when Ben-
net’s voice sounded in her ear. “Keep still, we’ll save
you.”
While the chauffeur was returning with a broken sap-
ling, Bennet, rope in hand climbed a nearby tree, whose
branches overhung the road. From one branch to an–
other he made his way till directly over the reptile, then
making a slipnoose he slowly lowered this down in front
of the alligator. The reptile's eyes were so blinded with
anger that he paid no heed to the noose as it touched the
ground in front of him and was slowly dragged about his
head till well behind the neck of the brute. The tension
was too much for the old woman and she swooned,
slumping to the middle of the roadway as she saw the
rope about the reptile's body.
The alligator, seeing the motion of the woman’s body
falling, grew wilder in its anger and lashed the road furi-
ously with its tail, at the same time bellowing fiercely
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The bellow, however, was shortened as Bennet tightened
on the rope and lifted the brute from the ground till only
the rear feet and tail were touching. The bellow became
a scream as the reptile fought and struggled with this new
danger which sought to choke him. In the dashing,
swinging, swaying fight, the suddenness of the capture
turned the bellowing into screams that were half coughs,
Bennet was almost hurled to the ground from his lofty
perch.
“Round the tree, 'round the tree,” shouted the chauf-
feur. “Throw the rope 'round the tree.”
Bennet struggled to do this when he caught the advice.
Wrapping his legs about the trunk of the limb, wrestler
fashion, he fought and pulled till almost exhausted. Final-
ly he managed to lift the alligator from the ground and tie
the rope securely to the limb. Panting and gasping after
his struggle he returned to the ground. The elderly wom-
an was just regaining consciousness when he reached her.
The alligator was twisting, turning and struggling wildly,
his body swaying from one side to the other, in the effort
to free himself. The woman opened her eyes, then seeing
the alligator swinging, closed her eyes again, shouting:
“Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!”
Bennet tried to lift her to her feet but she refused to
rise. Repeating the request, “Kill it.”
Bennet was still trying to sooth her when the chauffeur
returned from the car with Bennet's revolver. Going
close to the white glistening belly of the reptile, he aimed
the revolver at a point just between the shoulders and
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fired twice. At the second shot the alligator’s struggles
diminished, a small stream of blood issuing from the
wounds made by the bullets.
“Too bad. I wanted him alive,” was all Bennet said as
the chauffeur returned him the revolver. Gently the lat-
ter lifted the woman in his arms and bore her to the car,
dispatching the chauffeur for some water from the stream
they had crossed. Bennet moistened his handkerchief
when the man returned and gently laved the woman’s
forehead. This soon revived her. At the opening of her
eyes and returning memory, with a smothered scream she
threw her arms about Bennet and began to cry.
She was soon soothed to calmness, however, by Bennet
who convinced her that the reptile was dead. “Ugh !” she
shuddered as calmness returned. “That’s the first time I
ever met one of the things on the road and I’ll never come
this road again. — I never knew them to come so far
from the river before.”
“They come out to lay their eggs,” offered the chauffeur
in explanation.
“Yes, so I’ve heard, but never met one before.”
“You must have frightened him as much as he did you,”
smiled Bennet, reassuringly, as the woman clung to his
hand. “Do you feel well enough to travel?” he asked so-
licitously. “If you do, I’ll take you to your home and set
you down.”
“God bless you, and bring you a good wife,” the old
woman replied. “It’s Sally Gorton that thanks you, Boy.
Old Sally Gorton. I’ve been in these parts nigh onto six-
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well go back. Park Lauriston ain’t going to let nobody
but John Marley marry his Lida.”
Bennet's face flushed more as the woman continued.
“No sir. That’s all settled. They’re two proud families
and the old men have fixed it up so’s Lida and young John
can hit it off together.”
“What's the matter? Won’t they let the young lady
choose for herself?”
“Not much, they won’t. Seems Lida went North last
year and got herself mixed up in some scandal and now
they’re all against the girl. She's practically a prisoner
till she makes up her mind to marry Young John. They’re
a cursed lot, with all their pride.”
“What do you mean?” Bennet bristled defensively, sur-
prised out of his determination not to make known his
errand. “I chanced to meet the young woman, in the
North and found her to be exceedingly ladylike.”
“Going to call, are you?” Mrs. Gorton asked.
“That was my plan. I chance to be passing through,
and knowing that she lived in this vicinity thought I’d
call.”
“Well, you won’t be welcomed. I know.—Park Lauris-
ton's too proud to let any strangers call on his child. Be-
sides, I tell you they’ve fixed it up for Young John to
marry her.”
“I thought they didn’t do those things here in the
South. Thought they allowed the girl to choose,” Bennet
commented.
“Huh, you don’t know the Lauristons. Though they
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live in the country they’re all pride — with nothing to
pride over, either. — True they’ve got a lot of old names
in their families. But they’ve got other things too, and
One of them's Park Lauriston.”
“Evidently you don’t like the family,” Bennet remarked
drily.
“Why should I? Didn't Park Lauriston throw me off
his land last year? Me, an old woman, who'd befriended
his family and nursed his children after their mother died
and cared for them? No, I put a curse on the family.
Let Lida marry Young John Marley. When they’re mar-
ried I’ll tell them a thing or two that’ll curse them all.
The whole brood.”
The car was gliding along quietly and came to a clear-
ing off the road at the back of which nestled a small house
from whose chimney arose smoke suggesting that the
evening meal was in process.
“That’s my house,” Mrs. Gorton indicated.
They turned into the roadway leading up to it and
drove up to the little garden patch with its path leading
to the door behind a lattice covered with roses. The sun
was setting in a large red ball through the trees, while
far off to the east, over the woods darkness began to creep
up the sky. There was a sound of cutting wood in the
distance, with a rich voice yodling an evening tune in
tempo with each axe-blow, as the echoes carried both
from forest patch to forest patch across the cotton fields.
“Better come in and eat with us. Not much of a table
but what I have you’re welcome to. Besides, you can’t
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and saw a man behind a plow, driving a team of horses
in a field of head high corn, the reins from the team
thrown over the man’s head which was beneath the wid-
est-brimmed straw hat Bennet had ever seen. The smell
of the freshly plowed earth, the green blades of corn and
the general brightness of the air filled Bennet with sudden
resolution. He sprang from his bed, hurried his toilet
and was soon in the yard behind the rose trellis.
Not seeing Mrs. Gorton or her son he started for the
road, determined to walk about this country a little before
going to the Lauristons. The earth, moistened with the
dews of night, was just being dried by the sun. The
leaves under the shade of the trees were still damp. Vigor
and vitalizing joy made Bennet stride along with a heart
full of strength and a smile on his face. He walked along
the edges of the growing corn and fairly reveled in the
verdure that spread out before him.
He was just about to retrace his steps so as to be pre-
pared for the noon meal when he turned into a cross road
and noted a woman approaching, her head down. She
was walking slowly as if in deep meditation. He de-
termined to get a glimpse of her face to see if she bore out
the traditions of the south. The woman approached to
within twenty feet of him before she realized that she was
meeting someone. She raised her head and Bennet looked
into the eyes of Lida.
The girl was changed almost beyond recognition. There
were great dark circles about her eyes which had become
hollowed and sunken. The pink of her cheeks was fading.
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She looked up, halted for a moment as if unable to be-
lieve her eyes then stumbled, half fell toward him. He
sprang to her in time to prevent her falling.
“My Darling,” he murmured.
“Truman — Truman — Truman —
say. “God has answered my prayer.”
Bennet lifted her tenderly and folded her to his shoulder
where she lay her head, weeping silently. Bennet was too
moved for words. He could only press his cheek to hers
while his arms held her tightly till her spell of weeping
exhausted itself. When her tears ceased to flow and her
heart stilled its flutter, she looked up shyly into his face.
Her arms folded tenderly about his shoulder and their
lips met.
“How I’ve prayed and hoped you’d come, Dear. I
have wanted you — needed you so,” she sighed.
“I wrote you several times after getting your last let-
ter. Not hearing from you I wondered what had hap-
pened and came down to see,” was his simple explanation.
“Take me away, Truman. Take me away.” Lida's
eyes filled again as she spoke.
“After I’ve seen your father,” said Bennet.
“Don’t do that, please. He'll kill you. — He's said so.
Please don’t think of that,” Lida begged in alarm.
“He got one of my letters asking you to come. — He's
placed a guard over me — he wants me to marry someone
else—don't you see? — don’t you see it can’t be that
way,” she cried wringing her hands.
” was all she could
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Bennet soothed her but held to his determination. As
she yielded she said in explanation:
“I have waited so long for you to come—I have wanted
you so much and I need you so much I dread any further
parting.”
He embraced her tenderly while saying:
“Thank you, Dear Girl for that. It's worth wading
through Hell for, and I’ll not leave you again. When I
go you go with me, and we’ll be married. I must first,
however, have your father’s refusal or consent.”
“It will never be consent, Dear. But tell me, where are
you stopping. Whom do you know about here. —When
did you get here,” she prattled happily on, her mood shift-
ing, not waiting for answers to any questions. When she
paused, Bennet said:
“I stopped last night with a Mrs. Gorton, back on the
road here. I came from Orangeburg yesterday.”
At the mention of Mrs. Gorton, Lida gave a little gasp.
Bennet turned to her questioning.
“Why, what's the matter? Wasn't that all right,” he
asked.
“Ye-e-e-e-e-e-es, I suppose so. How’d you happen to
stop there?” she queried.
Bennet then recounted the experience of the day before,
telling of the alligator episode and Aunt Sally's hos-
pitality. When he concluded, Lida said:
“She dislikes us — I don’t know why. — She even pro-
nounced a curse on us last year,” Lida stated half in so-
liloquy.
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“Not to the man who has to stand guard over me,”
Lida retorted indignantly. “I won’t stand for your follow-
ing me any longer. And I tell you now I’ll never marry
you. I — I — I’ll kill myself first. I want no more of
your insults.”
Marley ignored the words but indicating Bennet, asked:
“Who’s your friend?”
“A real friend and a true gentleman,” replied Lida
proudly.
“Your northern friend, I suppose?” Marley continued.
“Northern or not he's chivalrous enough not to impose
himself on a lady when he's not wanted — and he's not
cowardly enough to spy on a girl. He's too much of a
gentleman for that,” she ended.
Marley started toward the girl. Bennet quickly placed
himself in front of her; menace in his attitude. “The lady
has said that she wants none of your company. – You'd
better go. Stand aside,” he warned.
He took Lida’s arm and walked by Marley, passing be-
tween him and the girl. When they had gone a few paces
the latter turned to the couple. “So that’s your northern
white nigger is it. Well, we treat 'em all the same down
here. Better watch out or he'll be decorating a tree too.”
Neither Lida nor Bennet heeded the insults or taunt,
though Bennet felt a tremor in his companion’s arm.
They passed on. When they reached the road that led to
Lida’s house, the girl turned to Bennet.
“I’m sincerely sorry I can’t take you to my house to-
night. I’ll get word to you tomorrow, however, where we
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may meet. And then, Truman Dear, we must get away.”
Bennet looked at the drooping girl at his side, saw the
lines of forlorn weariness manifested in the face and a
great pity welled into his heart. He was reminded of the
figure of Eurydice as she must have appeared to Orpheus
when the latter looked back to see if she was much
changed by her journey in the land of Proserpina. She
seemed so weak and helplessly suffering that he longed to
snatch her away from the present into a golden bright
future.
“Dear Little Girl,” he said, “I am just beginning to
know what you must be enduring for my sake. I love you
so I don’t want harm to come to you. It kills me to see
you suffer so. Would you be very lonesome should I go
away. — Would it relieve you of your suffering?”
Lida looked up, touched his arm, tears dripping from
her lashes.
“It would serve no good purpose to leave me. I’d —
only — die. I cannot — and will not marry another. It
is too late now, Dear. How would my love fare with you
away?”
“Ah, but I only bring suffering to you. — And I can’t
bear to see you suffer. My love is not selfish enough to
feed upon your suffering.”
Lida shook her head in a sad negative. “I thought over
all these things when we walked down the cinder path at
college that night of the reception. You know, a woman
looks at her love differently than a man. She weighs the
cost. A man simply sees the object of his love, wants that
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love and strives to possess. Not so a woman. She cal-
culates the cost, the obstacles, the chances of happiness
and weighs the character of her man. When once she
makes up her mind nothing changes her. I love you
truly, and always will. I’m not one to love lightly.”
“I know that, Dear, and I love you as sincerely. What
love, however, can endure to see the object of that love
suffer. Suppose I were suffering as you must be. Would
you want to do differently than I?” he asked tenderly.
“I’d try to get you out of trouble as speedily as pos-
sible, but I’d never leave you,” Lida suggested. “Take
me away, please.”
“I believe you — and bless you for it. I’ll take you
away tomorrow. I must be honorable, though, in the
taking and honorably say to your father that I am taking
you. At least I owe him that.”
Lida smiled, as she stood on tiptoe to reach her lips to
his. “Aufwiedersehen, then.”
Never had words a deeper meaning to Bennet than
these. He clasped her to his heart in a long embrace.
“Aufwiedersehem,” he repeated, tenderly. He stood
watching her till she passed in at her gate far down the
white sandy road and turning waved to him. As she
tripped up the steps and entered, Bennet lifted his hat
and bowed reverently then turned to retrace his steps to
Mrs. Gorton’s.
Once there he lost no time in asking for a chance to re-
main with her for a few days. He liked the locality so
well, its picturesqueness and scenery. Her family was
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dog in his tracks? I'd have killed them both,” she heard.
“There's plenty of time to kill,” was Marley's senten-
tious answer.
“Well, he's got his nerve with him. I thought you were
going to watch Lida and take care of her. What sort of a
husband would you make if you can’t protect her.” It
was again Elvin’s voice she heard.
“I’ll protect her all right, all right when she's my wife.
I went down to the stables for a minute and when I came
back she was gone. I went right after her though,” Mar-
ley explained.
“Yes, you went right after her — and was too much of
a coward to protect her when you found her,” sneered
Elvin. “We don’t want him about. First thing you know
they’ll be eloping.”
“That’s just what we will do,” observed Lida mentally.
She was on the point of taunting them with the fact but
decided that discretion was better and continued to her
room then locked the door securely behind her. “It’s to
be one woman against the pack of you now,” she resolved.
During the remainder of the afternoon her maid, Chloe,
was the only person she allowed to enter. She busied her-
self packing what belongings she considered her personal
property. This occupied her till time for the evening meal
which she ate in her room. As darkness came on she
looked from her window at the familiar haunts and one by
one bade them a mental farewell.
“I wonder, when, if ever, I’ll see you all again. It’s a
sad way to leave you all, my friends, my woods, my hero
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CHAPTER XXVIII
Long she remained at the window going over the events
of the past year and dreaming of Bennet; wondering if he
had retired yet and if he had thought of her. She won-
dered if he realized how happy he had made her by com-
ing in her time of need. All the world about her was in
slumber and darkness such as is only known to a southern
night.
Here and there a lightning bug flashed in the trees and
shrubbery of the garden. A cricket chirped and a locust
sang his quavering raspy number. Lida was still looking
from her window, when, at her door, there sounded a
faint and excited knocking. “Miss Lida — Miss Lida —
Miss Lida,” the voice whispered.
Lida returned regretfully from her dreams. She felt
her way to the door. She recognized the voice as that of
Chloe, her maid, and opened the door. The girl’s eyes
were so wide that they shone even in the darkness.
“Miss Lida,” the girl reached out to feel for her mis-
tress’s hand. Lida touched her. “I’m here, Chloe,” she
said. What’s the trouble?”
The girl silently closed the door then stepped close to
Lida. “They’s Sumthin’ goin' On. Sumthin’ mystery-
like — very mystery-like.”
Lida waited for details.
“Young Mr. Lauriston done gone off in the dark. Took
his gun and gone off. John Marley gone with him too.
Yessum, gone with him too. I was sitting on the steps by
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No sooner was the plan framed in her mind than she
began to plan for its execution. "Quick, Chloe,” she said.
“Go to the barn and bring me my horse, never mind sad-
dling him.” The maid departed. “They'll wait down at
the cotton gin till all their crowd have come. I hope that
will give me a chance to beat them,” she reasoned.
Hastily throwing about herself a heavy wrap she went
to the yard to await the coming of the horse. She heard
the steps and realized that if she galloped, footsteps would
be heard and her plan discovered. “Quick, Chloe, some
burlap bags. Bring me some quick.” The girl was gone
and in a few minutes returned. “Some string — some
string. Oh, why didn't you think of some string: Quick,
girl, some string,” she whispered excitedly.
Before the girl could offer any explanation Lida had
shoved her in the direction of the house again. Chloe
ran nimbly up the steps and into the kitchen, returning
soon with a ball of twine. Having been on familiar terms
with the horses of her father's place since girlhood it was
not difficult for Lida to tie the burlap mufflers about the
feet of the horse. With that done she led the animal to a
block and was soon mounted. Cautiously she started and
breathed a sigh of relief as she noted that the footsteps of
the horse could scarcely be heard.
The animal stepped out gingerly at first but soon be-
came accustomed to the mufflers. As far as the gate at
the end of the lawn, Lida walked the horse. The cotton
gin was somewhat to the rear of the house and off to the
left of the road about a half mile. Once into the highway
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she struck the animal in the side with her heels and urged
it into a gallop.
The hoofbeats could barely be heard. Lida smiled
at the fact. It was a ten-minute ride to the Gorton house.
As she neared the house a hound challenged and raced to
the gate. Lida dismounted and soon made friends with
the dog. This accomplished she led her horse to the yard
fronting the house, hitched him to the trellis and then
started for the rear.
Bennet had been unable to sleep and was sitting at his
window watching in the direction of the Lauriston house,
hence, when he heard the hound he was all alertness.
When the horse came to the yard and he heard the creak-
ing trellis, he was all attentiveness. He waited for a rap-
ping at the door and when none came started to peer from
his window. Until someone rapped he would not disturb
the family. He was still waiting when he heard faint foot-
falls coming around the corner of the house. In the dark-
ness they recognized each other. Lida’s tension relaxed
as her heart filled with joy that she had been in time.
Joy forced tears to her eyes.
“Truman—Truman—Truman,” she whispered, a great
tenderness enveloping her. “Is that you?”
“Lida, Heart, what are you doing here at this time?
You ought to be home,” he cautioned.
“Sh-h-h-” was her warning. “You’re in danger. They’ve
planned to kill you. — Oh, God, how can men be such
brutes?” she agonized.
Bennet climbed through the window and leaped lightly
to the ground.
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moving slowly back and forth indicating that her way was
still safe.
She was almost half way home when this time she de-
tected the sound of galloping of many horses still some
distance away. Wheeling her mount to the left she de-
liberately entered a nearby cotton field and was soon hid-
den from view. Once in the field and behind the roadside
hedge of trees she dismounted and stood by her horse's
head lest he neigh and make known to the riders that
someone else was about. The riders soon passed them
and were on their way to the Gorton home. With these
once behind her, Lida breathed a sigh of relief and be-
gan to cry softly.
Bennet comforted her and she soon regained her com-
posure. Now she hurried the horse till near her own
yard when they slowed down to a silent walk. Into the
yard they came like spectres.
“Here we are, at last. Thank God,” she breathed, as
she dismounted with the aid of Bennet’s hand. “I’m
going to hide you in our attic for tonight, and tomorrow
you must get away.”
Chloe, the maid, was still waiting in the darkness for
the return of her mistress and turning the horse over to
the girl, Lida led the way to the attic.
“You’ll have to make the best of it for tonight, Dear,
and be sure to keep quiet. I’ll come to you when the coast
is clear tomorrow and get you away. I have a cave where
I used to play when a girl. I’ll see if that’s safe and then
take you there till we can get away.”
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“You’re a trump of a girl. God has been good to me
to give me your love. I pray God I’ll always deserve it,”
he said fervently. “You’re a brave, jewel of a girl.”
She clung to him in a long embrace then silently stole
back to her room. Once in the room she recklessly threw
herself across her bed and surrendered to tears as a relief
to her emotions and a relaxation from the excitement of
the past hours. It was well toward morning when she
regained control of her nerves. Her body was still
wracked by great dry sobs at intervals when she heard the
footsteps of her brother's horse in the yard. She heard
the horse led to the barn and the young man return, then
enter the house.
The heaviness of the steps indicated the anger of the
man. Lida listened intently, anger gripping her body and
resentment at the atrocity of which he would have been
guilty had she not thwarted their plans. She listened
eagerly for any indication of whether Elvin suspected how
Truman had been saved. He was grumbling and mutter-
ing as he undressed and prepared for bed. Footsteps
back and forth in the room which was across the hallway
from hers told Lida of his retirement act. The thud of a
shoe sounded. Lida held her breath awaiting the fall of
the second shoe. This came shortly and then she heard
her brother’s slippered feet shuffling about the room.
Presently his steps passed her door on the way to the
bath room. As he passed Lida heard him say:
“Must have heard us. – Durn him, - it's lucky he got
away. — But he can’t go far — we'll get him today.”
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At that threat Lida shook a clenched fist in the direc-
tion of the bath room. “Never, if I can help it,” she
vowed in answer to the threat. She listened further to the
mutterings of disappointment uttered by her brother, then
finally succumbed to the drowsy feeling which followed
her night of excitement and exertion. Bennet, immediate-
ly that the door was closed and the girl gone, stretched
himself on the floor near it so as to prevent any sudden
intrusion, should those who sought to harm him discover
his hiding place. He could not sleep, however. Long he
lay awake staring into the darkness of the room and pon-
dering over his course of action. In the face of all the
dangers he was causing, he wondered whether it was right
for him to bring so much trouble on the one he loved with
all his being.
“Which is the truer love,” he argued with himself.
“To persist in wooing the girl I love in the face of such
hardships as I am bringing on her for the sake of that love,
or to sacrifice that love for the peace of mind and bodily
ease of the object of my love? — Which is the truer love?
“I love the girl with all the devotion within me. I
shall love her all of life till the end of time for me. Which
is right? To give her up and continue loving her or to
take her and flee. Once out of this uncodly country our
loves and our lives would run smoothly. — I can make her
happy, and will make her happy—.” Thus through the
long hours he debated till finally he swept all doubts from
his mind as to the true course with the decision, “Oh, why
worry? We’ll get away today and forget this land.”
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CHAPTER XXIX
Lida had taken her maid into her confidence and won
the girl's support to her plan. It was this. Bennet
would dress as one of the farm hands, wearing a wide
brimmed palmetto hat pulled well down over his face,
leave the house and be piloted to the secret cave, after his
face had been blackened.
Already Lida and the girl had been over to the cave and
made it comfortable with a good meal there to welcome
Bennet. From there, at night, when the coast was clear,
the couple would make their escape and flee.
In twenty minutes after leaving the clothing, Lida again
knocked at the door. This time a deep brown-skinned
Bennet greeted her. “Will I pass?” he asked as he stood
before her. Lida looked at him in his garb, inspecting him
from head to foot.
“You look like a native,” she confessed. “I don’t like
you that way and you’ll have to get out of it as soon as
you get to the cave. I want you as you are to me. — Just
you.”
Bennet touched her hand gently to his lips. “Hurry,”
she warned. “We’ve only a little while. They’ll be com-
ing back. When you leave the yard go straight to the field
at the back of the house. There's where the hands are at
work. Walk along by the fence to the end of the lane.
When you get there a girl will be waiting. Follow her.”
Bennet again kissed her hand. “I don’t like to do this,
Lida, Mine. It’s not fair — but I suppose it’s best.”
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As if by inspiration, when she heard her brother make
his threat, she was reminded of this cave and thought it
an ideal place for hiding. When she awoke in the morn-
ing she hurried to make preparations to take Bennet
there. She and her maid had made two trips to the place
and had refurnished it from her girlhood days, providing
a camping outfit and a table and chair.
When Bennet reached Chloe she pointed to the trees.
“See that tree,” she said. “You’all hav to clum up to
wher’at hole is. Thas yo' home fur now. Miss Lida’ll
be here soon. She’ll tell you’all de rest.”
From the tree there hung a grapevine rope, leafy and
heavy with green grapes, this entwining about the limbs
of the tree above and losing itself in curtains of Florida
moss. After giving her instructions the girl wheeled and
was gone. Bennet looked at the tree and after stepping
off some fifteen or twenty feet ran toward it and leaped
as high up the trunk as he could, climbing up the re-
mainder of the distance, with the help of the grapevine
rope. As he reached the heavy limb extending into the
cave he paused to view the sight within.
Here was a cave, well lighted from the sun shining
through the spray, about as deep and as high as a large
room. Far back in a corner was a book shelf with a few
volumes on it, while on the opposite side at the wall was
a camp table covered with food. Between the two was a
cot covered over with a couple of horse blankets.
“Well, of all things,” he exclaimed. “Who’d have
thought such a thing possible. As dainty a room as could
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outfit, a very happy time could be spent here.” At the
words suggesting happiness, Bennet's face clouded.
“It would be a happy place for you were it not for me,”
he said sorrowfully.
“What do you mean?” Lida asked.
“I mean that by my loving you I’ve brought trouble
to you. I can’t bear to see you suffer,” Bennet returned.
“Why, I’m not suffering. Can anyone suffer who loves
really and truly? And does not love counterbalance any
suffering? It is a joy to suffer for the man I love. It
makes love all the dearer. It is what makes life worth
living now. Why I’ve only lived since I’ve known you.”
“If all these experiences have been yours what must
mine be, to whom you are life itself — to whom you are
dearer than life?” Bennet's voice was low and vibrant
with feeling. “It is I who have learned to live since lov-
ing you. Your love has opened the world to me — made
me realize that I’m a real part of the universe. I under-
stand better now, the light of the stars at night; the light
of the moon, and the very darkness itself since your love
has come into my existence. I can better sense the mo–
tion of the universe about us because of your love, and My
Heart, My Heart, O, how I love you!”
He had taken the girl into his arms and her head lay
confidingly and contentedly on his shoulder. The world
itself seemed forgotten. They stood silently after the
speech for some minutes, each dreaming and looking into
space. Bennet was the first to be recalled back to the
present.
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“Won’t they miss you at the house?” he asked.
“Why should I care? I’m with you. That’s enough.”
“Yes, but you know we must get away tonight or to-
morrow at latest. We have to plan for that.” — After a
moment’s pause Bennet continued. “And yet, Dear
Heart, I wonder if I’m right in taking you away from all
you’ve known and loved in your growing years?”
Lida turned to him. “You just said you loved me.”
“Yes, it is this love, – the very strength of it that makes
me hesitate to ask you to leave all and go with me—to
make such sacrifices as you are making, to endure what I
am bringing on you.”
Lida stood away from him suddenly. As she did so a
small silver and pearl handled revolver dropped from her
bosom. Bennet, surprised, stooped to pick it up. Lida
also reached for it at the same time. Their hands met
warmly. Bennet grasped the weapon. He held it before
him in his open palm.
“What’s this for?” he asked.
“Lida’s face flushed as she laid a hand on his shoulder.
“That was to save you, Dear. I — I — didn’t want any
harm to come to you.”
Bennet looked at the girl so intently that her eyes
drooped. “The only one who could have wished me harm
would be your brother or Marley. Would you have shot
them for me?”
Lida leaned her head on his breast and clutched the
lapels of his coat as she began to weep. “I love you more
than anything else in the world. I would kill even — to
— save you.”
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Bennet placed his arm about the girl and comforted her.
He looked at the face below his own and then at the re-
volver in his hand while into his mind came Kipling's
words about the female of the species. He lifted the girl's
face till their lips touched in a lover’s embrace. Then he
handed the revolver to her and pulled one of his own from
his pocket. “That’s enough protection for me,” he said.
“I don’t believe I need that as long as I have two good
hands,” he added.
“You’ll be careful, always, won’t you, Truman?” she
warned solicitously.
“Yes.”
“For my sake, Truman, you'll always be careful?” she
asked again.
“Don’t you worry, Little Girl. I’ll take care of myself.
Better be getting back to the house. They’ll be missing
you.”
“Oh, I forgot all about your breakfast. You must be
starved,” she turned to the table.
“Well, there is a decided emptiness somewhere about
me. Hadn't thought of it before, though,” he laughed.
“You poor boy. And Chloe and I brought food here
for you this morning.” She turned to the little table and
lifted napkins from the luncheon. “Come,” she said,
“Let’s eat.”
Bennet lost no time in placing the table where he
could sit on the cot and Lida on the chair. “All the com-
forts of home,” he said. “God bless our home,” he added.
The two sat and soon devoured the food, both being
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hungry and like two children at play over this meal. When
the meal was finished, Lida gathered the dishes together.
“I’ll leave them here we may want them again,” she said.
“I’ll wash them though, and you can dry them. Come
on,” she invited. Bennet jumped to the task with relish.
Leaning over the cliff, Lida allowed the water to wash each
dish then handed it to Bennet who dried each as it was
handed to him.
“This is great fun,” she smiled as she handed him the
last glass. “Like camping out, or living as the early set-
tlers and pioneers did. What a glorious time they must
have had.”
“Yes, and many a hardship,” Bennet added.
“All for us, though, and the land we have,” Lida ob-
served.
When the table had been tidied Lida decided to re-
turn to the house. It was after noontime then and hur-
riedly sliding down the grapevine rope she looked up to
give a last warning to Bennet. “Be careful now,” she
said. “I’ll be back before sundown.”
With that, after blowing a kiss to Bennet from the tips
of her fingers so daintily that Bennet was almost tempted
to descend and get a real one, she turned and was soon
lost in the shadows of the trees. Bennet turned to his
hiding place, and being drowsy, took one of the books
from the shelf and started to read. He was not occupied
long with this, however, before his eyelids drooped and he
stretched out on the couch, sound asleep.
It was far into the afternoon before he awoke again.
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“Time will never righten things to the extent that my
father or my brother will change. I know you’re white
so far as blood, bearing and character are concerned. And
the rest makes no difference to me. Down here, though,
people see things differently and time will never change
them.
“I don’t want to live down here. I want to be where
you are. I want to be where my love is — and that’s
with you. I don’t want to leave Daddy, just yet, though.
I may never see him alive again when I leave,” she proph-
esied.
“I think it best for your sake that I go back alone. It
will be sad for me. — Life will be gone but the memory of
you will always be with me. Can't we let the love we feel
remain in our hearts, – can’t we treasure each other
though far apart, for having known and loved each other?
I have never intended that my love should bring you
harm — that it should cause you a moment’s pain.”
“You’ll cause me more pain by leaving me. Life will
be dark and drab without you.”
“Still I don’t think I’m worthy of all the sacrifice you’re
making.”
“Am I the only one making sacrifices?” she asked.
“Aren't you making sacrifices for me? Your family
opposes the match as well as mine. You are sacrificing
them, why should I cling to mine. We have our own
lives to live. We have our own ways to make in the
world. You, yourself have said that. I’m willing to make
my sacrifices for you, just as you’re willing to make them
for me.”
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wash his face, eh. Well, I’ll do it for you.” After remov-
ing all the stains she looked at Bennet tenderly. “There,”
she said, “You look like the man you are, not like some-
one else.”
She soon started down the ladder again and on reaching
the ground called:
“I’ll be back before dark. Cheer up. Don’t be lone-
some.”
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CHAPTER XXX
Lida’s heart was light as she neared her home despite
the troubles that swirled about her. So lighthearted was
she that she was whistling gaily. Her brother heard the
tune and watched her as she crossed the yard. Seeing her
gaiety aroused his resentment against the girl and her
lover. He looked at her long and steadily, a scowl on his
face. As she reached the top step he grew suspicious of
her happiness. She was about to pass him and enter the
dining room when he caught her by the shoulder.
“Here! Where’ve you been?” he demanded abruptly.
She whirled from under his grasp and stood facing him,
piquancy and daring in her attitude. “What matter's it
to you?” she asked.
“No girl’s got any business running about over the coun-
try alone.”
“Indeed? Since when? — I’ve done that all my life.
At least until you and Daddy, appointed Mr. Marley my
guardian?” she taunted.
“You need a guardian, all right. You ought to be put
away,” Elvin observed.
“And why?”
Elvin refused to answer. Suddenly he pointedly asked:
“Where's that — that —” he hesitated then continued
— “Bennet?”
“How should I know,” she answered innocently. “You
knights of the old fields ought to know best. Didn't you
find him last night?”
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“No, we didn’t find him, but we will and when we do
—.” He did not finish the threat for Lida whirled snap-
ping her finger in his face.
“That for your threat. I’m ashamed of you all. —
Murderers at heart. Murderers in soul. — And all for
what? All because I want to marry the man of my
choice.”
“Yes, but he's got black blood in his veins. And no
sister of mine will ever marry a black man. — No! by
God, No.”
“Ellie, Brother of Mine, he's as white as you — and in
some ways whiter,” Lida taunted.
“He may be white in skin but a drop of black blood in
his veins, you know what that makes him, down here.”
“It doesn’t alter his manhood or character, or human-
ness. And from what I’ve seen of southern chivalry he
overtops all of you. You men are chivalrous superficially.
At heart you’re just animal. I’ve had chance to think
over some of the things I’ve seen down here lately and
they don’t compare very favorably with chivalry. Every
woman is fair game to you men, whether she is black or
white. It little becomes any of you to talk.
“Besides birth is a mere matter of accident. We can’t
help what we’re born but we can improve on circum-
stances and environment. And I’m beginning to believe
that there’s as much nobility in one race as another, taken
man for man.”
“Well, you’ll never marry Bennet. This country won’t
stand for that kind of a marriage,” her brother predicted.
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“G'long with you. Didn’t I have him at my house?
Didn't he save me from a 'gator in the road 'tother day?
If he's black then you’re black. But what’s he done, that
you should run him off in the night and go hunting him in
the daytime?” She looked from Lida to Elvin and back
to Lida again.
“He wanted to marry Lida,” Elvin blurted out. “Fancy
a man with black blood wanting to marry my sister.”
“He’s as good as you,” defended Lida hotly, “and a lot
better.”
“I don’t give a hooting hang, he won’t marry you. I'll
see you both dead first.” Then turning to Mrs. Gorton.
“Mrs. Gorton, tell her how preposterous the thing is. My
father is already losing his mind over the affair.”
“Park losing his mind? Park losing his mind? Not
over that. He's got better sense. He's got a lot of pride
but his family is cursed. I told him so last year. I tell
you so now. What right's he got to lose his mind over
Lida’s marrying the man she wants? What difference
does it make if there is black blood in his veins. Most
likely there’s some black blood in the veins of all of us.
Perhaps there's some in mine. I know there's some in
Park’s and therefore there's some in yours, Elvin, and
some in yours too, Lide. Go on, marry your man, if he's
good. Don’t mind these airs.”
Elvin reeled as from a blow at the news the woman im-
parted. For a few seconds he was dazed. His eyes went
wide. He looked at his hands, studied his fingers, the
bony, hair-covered, vein-bursting back of his hands, in a
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Bennet came and stood beside her. “Too bad — too
bad,” was all he said.
“Now we can’t get away tonight. It’ll probably rain a
couple of days.”
“We can wait.”
“You won’t mind staying here?” she asked doubtfully.
“Of course not. You'll be visiting me, won’t you?”
“Certainly, Goosie,” she twitted. “I must be getting
back now before it gets dark.” In a few moments she
was gone and Bennet was alone.
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“What she said’s not true and I’ll prove it. She said
there's black blood in my family and if she's lied then
she'll take back the words or take a beating,” he threat-
ened while his face scowled.
“Aunt Sally’s been in this world a long time and may
know a lot about us we don’t ourselves. You can go look-
ing in old closets for skeletons if you want but here’s one
that won’t. If Aunt Sally said anything like that about
me, I’d say she was crazy and let it go at that. You
know lots of our ancestors, mine and yours, weren’t all
purists or saints just as you’ve not been. I say forget it,”
Marley advised again.
“So or not so, I want to know,” Elvin insisted. “Come
on, saddle your horse and let’s go. We’ll get there before
midnight.”
“Well, if you must go, I suppose I might just as well
go with you,” Marley yielded. “Suppose you find what
she says is true? What'll you do about it? You can’t
change the blood now. You’ll best forget about it,” he
again exhorted.
Elvin was obdurate, however, and it was not long be-
fore the two men were on the road to Orangeburg and the
courthouse. They reached the city an hour or so before
midnight and, after seeing their mounts well rubbed and
in their stalls for the night went to the Planters Hotel
where they secured rooms for the night. Marley was soon
asleep but Elvin Lauriston was so disturbed over the
events of the day that sleep refused to visit him for sev-
eral hours.
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Both men were astir early the following morning and
were at the courthouse shortly after the doors were opened
for business. The city had now recovered from the hor-
rifying mental state which the lynching and deaths had
created and life was resuming its usual tenor. There were
more than a dozen loiterers about the fence near the gates,
mere idle, indolent citizens eager to debate any subject
with his neighbor, or to expound theories on how to man-
age everything from the street cleaning to farming and
directing the Universe.
As Elvin and Marley entered the gate and started for
the door this group turned from their weighty discussions,
to the visitors, following with their eyes till both men were
lost to view inside. Their curiosity satisfied to that extent
they turned to their task of viewing the pageant of passing
life across the street, after expectorating and shifting their
tobacco to the other sides of their mouths.
Elvin strode to the clerk's office followed by Marley.
The clerk a dapper, little, quick-motioned individual met
them as they entered, at the same time rubbing his hands
like a country salesman.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” was his blandishing greet-
ing. “Can I help you in any way?”
Elvin lost no time in explaining his errand. “You have
here the records of births, deaths and marriages?” he
asked.
The clerk bowed and smirked again, “Oh, yes,” he re-
plied.
“Records of black as well as white people?” Elvin asked
again.
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“Well, sir,” the clerk smiled ingratiatingly. “We have
the records of the whites as far back as Colonial days but
those of the blacks are only of recent years. You know
marriages among blacks got but little attention from our
fathers in the old days. Hence those records are not com-
pletely kept, except as to slaves and their owners.”
“May we see the records?” Elvin asked.
“Certainly, sir. They’re kept in the basement. You
may find the place dusty,” the clerk explained apologeti-
cally. “It’s been years since they’ve been used.” As he
spoke he was piloting the two to the basement of the
courthouse and into the far regions off in the right hand
corner. The basement was poorly lighted except for the
oil lamps resurrected by the clerk and as they walked rats
and mice were heard scampering from under the feet of
the visitors, excited over the intrusion to what had been
for years their unmolested domain.
As the men walked, in the dim light Marley and Elvin
espied in front of them a large, mouldering, Oaken door of
a design, hand carved, no longer in architectural vogue.
To this the clerk approached and from a bunch of disused
keys selected a long rusted one and inserted it into the
lock. As the key creaked its way into the lock the scam-
pering of many more vermin feet could be heard. The
lock turned with difficulty. After several attempts the
lock yielded and the knob turned. The clerk placed his
body against the door and it also yielded, though stub-
bornly. As it opened the long rusting hinges squeaked
so sharply as to make the spine twist nervously. A gust
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Littlejohns — And — Ah, here you are. Here you are,”
he finally exclaimed excitedly. Lauriston hurried to him
and bent over his shoulder peering at the page in a leath-
er bound volume of unusual dimensions.
“There's Dr. Frederick Lauriston who attended Gen-
eral Oglevie in the Revolutionary time,” Marley contin-
ued. “He married — Let’s see. He married,” his finger
traced across the page. “He married Elizabeth Cooper.
Their three sons married white, all right. And, – the
male children of the next generation married white; and
the next generation; and the next generation,” he con-
tinued to trace, while Elvin looked over his shoulder fol-
lowing the tracings. “And the next,” he continued. “Ah,”
he drew a long breath. “Here it is. Here it is,” Marley
exclaimed excitedly. “See, see, one of the sons in this gen-
eration, a lawyer, married out of the race. See, Elvin,
there it is, sure's you’re born. Married Elspeth With-
erspoon, femme de couleur. Well, well, well. Femme de
couleur. That means colored woman.”
Elvin was speechless. He stared vacantly at the words
written on the page and standing out before him from an-
other day and time. He could not believe the words
though they seemed to stand out in two-inch size. His
breath came quick and in pent up bursts; his eyes wid-
ened and seemed to bulge from their sockets. His com—
panion’s finger rested at the expression. The room was so
still a mouse gnawing in the far corner of the room could
be heard.
Marley was the first to break the spell. “Well, well,
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well,” he continued. “Who’d ever have believed it.”
Elvin recovered his breath. “My God,” he exclaimed.
“She was right. — Aunt Sally was right!”
“That's nothing,” comforted Marley. “Let’s look at
some of the others. See here. Here's another — and
here's another femme de couleur marriage. They must
have been pretty white and pretty women for that.”
“Turn over to your own family. Let's see that,” sug-
gested Elvin.
“Not by a durned sight!” exclaimed Marley positively.
“Not by a durned sight! What I don’t know I don’t want
to know. Let the dead stay dead. You wanted to know
about yours and you found out. I don’t want to know
about mine. I know enough,” he announced emphati-
cally.
“Why almost every family, somewhere along the line,
seems to have spoiled the strain,” observed Elvin. “What
a land. I wonder if these people knew their origin?” he
asked indicating the pages containing the family names.
“Of course not,” exclaimed Marley. “Did you know
yours?”
A cold moisture dampened Elvin’s forehead as he stood
in the cold clammy vault. “These books and records
ought to be destroyed. Suppose bye and bye somebody
else sees them?”
“Yes, just suppose,” suggested Marley facetiously.
“They must be destroyed,” murmured Elvin musingly.
“They must be destroyed. Come on John,” he urged.
“I’ve seen enough.”
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was like the roll of continued distant thunder. The wind,
too, was beginning to freshen into a gale. Lida's hair
blowing to the wind despite her efforts to control it. As
they stood a jack rabbit bounded across their path on its
way to a burrow in the furze near the edge of the woods.
A squirrel followed closely behind, chattering in a fright-
ened way, as it ran.
A flock of crows that had been feeding in a field nearby,
flying in the wind, cawed excitedly as they passed. A
pair of blue jays, also fluttered by. The rumble grew
louder as the velocity of the wind increased and the trees
began to sway far over as if to seemingly almost bend
and snap. Unconsciously fear seemed to grip the hearts
of the two as they stood helplessly looking from one to the
other. They were just about to start back for the woods
and the cave when from far across the woods to the south
could be seen a funnel-shaped blue-black cloud, darker
than those which formed a background to it.
This funnel-shaped cloud twisted and gyrated from one
side to the other coming Ominously on toward them.
Truman’s arm was about the waist of the girl while she
leaned unconsciously toward him for protection. They
gazed at the cloud as if entranced out of their wills. The
gale was so fierce by this time that they scarcely kept
their footing. Truman uttered but two words: “a cy-
clone.” Into Lida’s face there crept not fear but confi-
dence.
Truman realized that to run for the woods would be to
court danger of death from flying tree branches and
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ter was still struggling and trying to stand to the wind.
His hair was blowing straight back from his head, sand
slashing his face and bringing tears to his eyes. He was
raving incoherently.
Bennet reasoned that, since the wind was blowing across
the woods, he would be fairly safe if he could make the
stump not far away. Pausing to measure distances ac-
curately, and to gauge the angle at which he would have
to be carried by the stump he wanted to reach, after tak-
ing Colonel Lauriston by one hand, he stepped out and
both were borne to the trunk of the tree. Colonel Lauris-
ton lost his balance in the struggle and was half dragged,
half blown across the distance. Bennet clinging to his
hand.
Throwing the elder man to the ground, he fell prostrate
across his body and grasped the stump, holding for dear
life, at the same time locking his legs in a scissors grip
about the elder man's body. He was not a moment too
soon for the apex of the cyclone was upon them the next
minute. The roar was deafening. Sand and dirt blew in
blinding gusts. Truman felt his body lifted and pounded
to the ground till it seemed he was breathless. Colonel
Lauriston tried to rise, but Bennet forced him to lie prone
by pressing his locked legs about the man’s body.
Suddenly the fury of the storm abated. The cyclone
had come and was gone. As soon as the fury was spent,
Bennet released his grip on the old man and arose. He
rushed to where Lida was still on the ground. She had
swooned. Colonel Lauriston was now running around on
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which by luck had not been blown over by the storm, be-
ing out of its direct path. They were within a quarter of a
mile of the house when Lida realized the danger into which
Bennet was running. Suddenly she paused, consterna-
tion at the thought, bringing a look of wildness to her face.
“Better not go any further, Truman,” she said gently.
“You’ll be discovered if you do.”
Bennet realized the truth of the words but asked,
“Hadn't I better go a little further? Will you be able to
manage?”
Lida indicated that she could. Darkness was now ap-
proaching and Bennet yielded. “I’ll come to you as soon
as possible tomorrow, Dear, and we'll leave tomorrow
night. I’ll have to make plans to see that Daddy will be
cared for before I go.”
“That will be all right, Lida,” Bennet consented, and re-
turned to his hiding place.
Elvin slept most of the day following his return home
and was only awakened by the howl of the storm and the
frightened noises of the animals in the barn, and the Negro
hands, who gazed on the storm with awe, while at the
same time huddled into a group, they mumbled prayers.
He had given no thought to Lida or his father until he saw
the couple coming out of the approaching darkness along
the lane leading to the house. Without a word to his sis-
ter he assisted his father into the house and his room,
where the servants soon had the old man prepared for bed
while Lida caused hot drinks to be made and given him.
She was busy most of the morning of the following day
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securing medical attendance for Colonel Lauriston and
making plans for his care. She and Elvin met but twice
during the day and then spoke to each other only in mono-
syllables. At last plans were completed to her satisfac-
tion and she started for the woods to meet Bennet. As
she walked down the lane leading to the woods Elvin was
looking from his window.
“Ah,” he muttered in surmise. “She’s not going into
that woods for nothing. She's meeting him there, durn
her. Well, she'll meet him the last time today.” With
that he turned into his room loaded his revolver and
started to follow her. When he left the house Lida was
now lost to view and he hunted in the woods some time
before he discovered a trace of her.
Lida and Bennet had met and were walking at the edge
of the forest planning their departure, unmindful of the
menace stalking them down.
“Do you know, Truman, there are but two regrets that
I have at leaving this place.”
“I know you must love it, Lida Mine. — I know how
you must feel. In a way I’m sorry to take you away. —
It's your home.”
“That’s it. It is all the home I have known. How ex-
istence changes as we go through life. — Here's the spot
that has known all my childhood joys and happiness—
all my little troubles and cares and worries. Yet I’m leav-
ing them — and willingly for—” she looked up tenderly
at the young man at her side, then softly said — “you.”
As she spoke she pressed the arm to which she clung, a
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little more weightily. She looked out on the drab fields
of cotton swaying in the gray day. “I shall miss you,
land of my home, however many pains I have known here.
I shall miss you beloved woodland, and most of all I shall
miss my cave.”
Bennet looked down at her, deeply touched. “Never
mind, some day perhaps we'll come back and they will be
glad to greet us.”
“I hate to leave my father in the condition he is. And
if your life were not in danger every moment you remained
I wouldn’t go away. I wonder if he’ll ever recover and
become reconciled?” Tears filled her eyes.
“Dear Daddy,” she said. “I love you and am sorry.”
“I’ll wait, Lida Mine, while you nurse your father. I’ll
go away and wait, though I should miss you just as the
falls would miss the water if the creek’s path were turned
away. I should be mighty lonesome. I’d go and wait
though.”
“I know you would, Truman. But I could not go on
without you. Harm would come to me here. What
would I do without you now? Heaven only knows what
I’d have to endure once you’re gone. — No, we must go.
I’ll have to leave Daddy to the care of the servants and
his friends here for a while. Perhaps time will change
things. No new land ever has the same reverence that a
childhood home has. We must come back — sometime.”
“We'll come back, as you wish, whenever you wish,
Lida.”
They walked along in silence for a few moments when
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selves. Why interfere? I’m no longer a child. Think of
the love we bore for each other as children. Think of the
times we used to romp and play together. Never was
there quarrel between brother and sister till now. These
woods, these fields, we’ve roamed together, you and I,
hand in hand, in the love that has been ours. Must it be
death for me, for I will die if Truman is hurt; must it be
death only that will satisfy you? Have you no heart?
Are you all beast?” —
“Oh, shut up! If you’re determined to marry this man
then I’m determined to stop it. Even if I have to kill him
first and then you. I was a fool to not shoot you both
down. I’ll get my hands on his throat, however, and
choke the very life out of him. Then I'll attend to you.
When a girl won’t look out for herself it is for her blood
relatives to look out for her.”
Bennet had removed his collar and was in the act of re-
moving the soft wool blouse he wore when Elvin finished,
stripped to the waist, the muscles developed in his outdoor
life and at college standing out in sinews of arms and
shoulders, pinked into condition. Lida, after speaking,
seeing that neither tears nor pleas would avail began to
weep softly again when Bennet halted in his preparations
to comfort her. Placing the free arm about the girl’s waist,
he drew her to him and whispered. “Never mind. I’ll
protect you. I have you and God on my side. We'll win.”
“But he'll kill you. — He'll kill you. Then what will be-
come of me. I’d rather die by your hands than by his.”
Bennet drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, still tug-
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ging to free his arm from the blouse. Elvin started toward
the couple. Lida stepped into his path in front of Bennet
and raised her hand.
“Stop!” she commanded. “I warn you, Elvin. I love
you as a brother even though you do this monstrous thing.
I love you, but if you kill him I’ll kill you. I'll kill you,”
she panted hysterically.
For answer Elvin struck the girl a blow with the flat of
his hand. “Get out of the way. You'll get hurt.” The
surprise of the blow as well as the pain sent Lida reeling
and stumbling at the side till she fell sprawling on the pine
needles.
“You dirty yellow dog!” Bennet exploded as he rushed
in madness toward Elvin. “To strike your own sister
down like that.” The two men met in mighty primeval
clinch, brute against brute. Between his teeth, after the first
impact of blows exchanged, as they clinched, Bennet con-
tinued, “I did not intend to kill you but for that I’m going
to throttle you as I would a raging dog.”
The two men swayed back and forth around the open
space each striving for a blow to advantage and each ward-
ing off ponderous swings then clinching and wrestling for
mastery.
“Save your breath to cry for help,” countered Elvin.
“You’ll need it, and get none.”
They breathed in great explosive hisses and grunted as
they tugged and struck out at each other and reeled over
the spot. Elvin caught Bennet a terrific swing on the jaw
in an unguarded moment as they came together and the
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latter retaliated with a body blow that sent the former
sagging in the knees. They lost the semblance of men,
their faces bleeding, and with their hair tousled, their eyes
glaring like wild animals, they struggled and grunted.
Once Bennet's foot slipped on the bed of pine needles and
he almost went down. Elvin was over him in an instant
gripping for the throat which was his objective. As he
leaned over, Bennet, with a supreme effort twisted to one
side and threw his adversary off balance for a moment.
That instant, however, was enough for his purpose. He
was on his feet quick as a flash, the grip which had been
slowly coming closer and closer to his throat broken, and
Elvin hurled several feet away.
While the two men were struggling, Lida regained con-
sciousness and struggled to her feet to lean against a tree.
She watched the two men, torn between two desires. She
wished for her lover to win but prayed that the blood of
her brother’s death would not be on his hands. At the
same time she agonized over the fear that her brother
would be victor and she would see her lover die. She
leaned against the tree, her eyes staring wildly at the two
men, her features distorted by the agony she endured, of
fear and hate combined, her fingers digging into the bark
so ferociously that the nails were torn and bleeding. She
could not scream. She could only stand transfixed with
horror.
Bennet seemed to be tiring, and Elvin, gloating in the
realization pressed for victory. Bennet’s arms seemed to
drop for a flash, from protecting his jaw. That flash was
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Elvin’s grip relaxed completely as he passed into uncon-
sciousness. Bennet laid the hands over his head and began
working them back and forth, as in the case of a drowning
man. Lida stood still at the tree her body half bending
over toward the pair transfixed in horror at what she was
beholding. Bennet leaned over the prostrate form of his
victim, slowly moving the arms back and forth at the same
time pressing in and out with his knees at the sides of the
man. After a few moments of this he listened at the heart.
There were faint heart beats.
“Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God, I’m no mur-
derer.” He leaned over and listened again. The heart
beats were stronger. “He’ll live,” he said aloud. At the
words Lida came out of her trance of horror and fell pros-
trate on the ground again. The hoise of her fall brought
Bennet to his senses of her presence. He turned to her.
“My God,” he exclaimed.
“Lida, – Lida — Lida, Dear,” he exclaimed as he
rushed to her side, bent over and lifted her into his arms.
“Lida, Lida.” He shook her gently. “Lida — Lida, wake
dear.”
He shook her gently again and at the third time she
opened her eyes.
“Truman, – Oh, Truman—You’ve killed him. —You’ve
killed him.”
“No,” he said, lifting her to her feet. “Brace up. He's
not dead.”
“And to think that he tried to kill you. — It was hor-
rible — horrible, horrible,” she continued. “Are you sure
he's not dead?” she asked.
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CHAPTER XXXIII
Dusk was just creeping under the clouds as they left
Elvin slowly breathing but still unconscious. “We’ll have
to get out of this land tonight dear. That’s all. If he
wakes and finds us still here, nothing will save us.” Bennet
gathered up his clothes and started toward the cave, half
guiding, half carrying Lida in his arms. She was almost
too weak to walk from the ordeal through which she had
passed. By the time they reached the falls she had re-
covered, however.
Bennet prepared to wash the blood from his body and
face. Lida was all tenderness now. “Let me do that. Let
me do that. — Here, bend over.”
Bennet leaned over the little stream as directed while
Lida dipped the handkerchief he offered her into the water
and tenderly laved his wounds. There were great scratches
on his arms and body where Elvin’s nails had dug in their
effort to get a grip. His chin was swollen and bruised from
the blows, landed there and his body was a mass of welts
and blotches. An eye was almost closed. About the
throat whole inches of flesh had been torn away. Lida
closed her eyes from the sight as she carefully bathed and
dressed them. That finished she said:
“I’ll hurry home and get what things we need, and we'll
have to get away in the darkness. – We’ll have to use two
horses.”
“Where's the nearest minister?” Bennet asked. Lida
blushed in the growing dark.
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him in the doorway, touching his arm affectionately.
“Come in children. Come in.” Father Buntin noted
shrewdly the condition of Bennet's face and commented:
“Youth will ever fight for love, eh, Boy?”—So you're
running away? —Well, you’re both of age and know your
own minds.”
“Yes, Father, we love and want to marry,” Bennet said
simply.
“This is a serious step you take. Few young people
realize nowadays how serious. They become enamored
of a face or the eyes or some other feature and immediate-
ly believe themselves in love and want to rush to the altar.
Love and marriage are serious things. They present
serious problems both of the present and future. Have
you considered all these things?”
“We have, Father.” Father Buntin looked long and
silently at Bennet. “If it were not for the difference in
feature I should say I had met you somewhere. Let’s
see.” He stroked his chin ministerially. “Ah —” he
sighed. “I have it. Aren’t you the young man I met at
Charleston, with Dr. Tansey?”
Bennet nodded his head affirmatively. “That's it. —
That's it. You're Mr. Bennet. — I sense it all now. You
came down here to get a girl. Well, she seems well
worth coming for — and fighting for,” he added. “I take
it you're eloping.” Bennet nodded. “In that case you're
in a hurry.”
“Yes, Father.”
“We'll lose no time then. Daughter, step this way. —
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Now join hands,” he commanded as they stood side by
side. The ceremony was soon over and the prayer pro-
nounced. After both had shaken hands with the clergy-
man and started for the door, Father Buntin touched Ben-
net on the shoulder.
“You knew of the fate of poor Dr. Tansey, did you?”
Bennet whirled.
“No, I hope to see him in the city.”
“Well, you won’t,” Father Buntin said solemnly. “He’s
dead.”
Father Buntin then gave Lida and Bennet a brief story
of the events leading up to the killing of Dr. Tansey. “I
only hope his death will have some effect on the people
down here. It was a sad thing, my boy. My heart bleeds
for the people here. Dr. Tansey was a brave outspoken
man. An honest and a fearless man. Never will I forget
the bravery he showed in challenging the attitude of the
southerners toward their black neighbors. A good man
has gone. Many more will go unless the people turn from
their ways. Unless they get more of Christ in their
hearts. Unless they live more the life of the Saviour.”
“Dr. Tansey was a saintly man, and my friend,” added
Bennet.
“He was a saintly man. I tell you all the Godly men
are not in the church. There are some great souls whose
lives are the best sermons, and Dr. Tansey’s was one of
these. I think the people are beginning to feel remorse.
If his death can but have the effect of putting more of
God into the hearts of the people of this section and the
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his father, a feeling of horror enveloping him. Before he
could frame a question, however, as to details, the colored
servant continued, apologetically. “I didn’t mean to let
him get outa my sight, Suh. But I went to git him a
drink and when I cum back he's gone. I didn’t mean to
lef him go, knowin’ he ain’t right,” tapping his head to
suggest bereft mind.
Elvin was still silent, his mind dazed at the calamity
which overwhelmed him. The servant continued. “Next
I hyeard a commotion out in the stables. The horses
was a-trompin’ and kickin’ and neighin'. I go out theah
and come to the stall of the big bay, who's making most
of the fuss and under his feet is Mistuh Lauriston, daid.
Oh, Lordy, trompled down by that horse.” The domestic
could say no more, his voice choked and tears began to
flow freely.
“My God! What a horrible end.” Again the words of the
clergyman came to his ears, “unto the third and fourth gen-
erations.” Elvin lifted his head to the sky. “Oh, God, help
me,” was all he could say. “It is more than I can bear.”
As he uttered these words he felt the hand of the col-
ored servant grasp his arm and pull him gently toward
the door to enter. He removed it from his arm only to grasp
it firmly in his hand. “William,” he said. “Your heart is
simpler than mine but it’s also nobler. I’ll never forget
you. I’m going to treat you and your people like friends
hereafter.”
“Thass all right, Suh, – Thass all right. We all loves
you, Suh, an’ we’ll stick by you. We'll tek care of you —
an’ Miss Lida.”
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CHAPTER XXXIV
Reaching Orangeburg about a half hour after sunrise,
Bennet and Lida, unmindful of the tragedy behind them,
stabled their horses then enquired their way to the little
railroad station at the east end of the town. Once here,
Bennet purchased tickets for New York and asked when
the next train for Columbia and the North would leave.
Informed that one would depart in half hour, Bennet
sought a small lunchroom to which he was directed by
the ticket agent, secured a lunch and reappeared.
He and Lida disposed of their hasty meal, the locomo-
tive was heard at the lower end of the town. Bennet
ushered her into the coach, disposed of their baggage and
seated himself beside her. Lida watched the station agent,
a thin-moustached, spare man of middle age ordering the
baggage and mail placed aboard, then heard the locomo-
tive puff itself into action. As the train left the station she
leaned back in the coach, her heart saddened by the mem-
ory of her father whose image she could not force from
her mind. At Columbia they sent a wire to Elvin telling
where the horses had been stabled and directing that he
call for them there.
“We’re married,” the message read. “And on our way
abroad. Take care of father till I return.”
Elvin fingered the message a long time when it reached
him in the afternoon. His thoughts turned from the father
whose body lay silent in the room, being prepared for
burial, to his sister. “Life — death — pawns of fate,”
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“No — no — no — don’t interrupt me. You don't know
how sorry I’ve been — how sorry. — I’m glad you're mar-
ried and I’m glad Lida is the girl. I’ve learned a lot since
I saw you last. I’ve learned that prejudices we hold are
wrong. I’ve decided to try and right some of those wrongs.
I saw some horrible things in the South; things I was
ashamed of; things America ought to be ashamed of;
things America will be ashamed of some of these days.
“Professor Armstrong —”
“Oh, Professor Armstrong? Is he up here too?” Ben-
net interrupted.
“Yes, after Dr. Tansey’s awful death — You heard
about that?” she rattled on. “No? — He died, killed in a
mob — trampled on as he and Professor Armstrong tried
to prevent two innocent persons from being lynched.
They failed — Oh, it was horrible — horrible. Professor
Armstrong was so shocked at the conditions that he has
decided to devote his life to changing conditions. – I’m
going to help him. The South is wrong—wrong—wrong.
“Professor Armstrong is going to start settlement work
in the South and try to get the white South to help better
the conditions. By bettering conditions of the colored
people, which is their duty, they will better their own. It’s
a glorious work. — I was just on my way down to meet
him now. Congratulations and may your lives be full of
happiness. Lida, I adore you.” She kissed Lida heartily.
—“On your honeymoon? Well, good luck to you. I’m
awfully glad you’re married.”
“We were just on our way to book passage for Eng-
land,” Bennet explained.
365