Rendered fairly speechless by the predicament she was in, Helen could only stand staring helplessly. Presently, however, she bent, and lifting the Bible from the floor she laid it on the table. With her massive elbows on her knees, her fat hands over her face and almost touching the flames, Linda rocked back and forth. “Dey ain't no God!” she cried; “ef dey is one He's es black es de back er dat chimbley. Dat book is er lie. Dey ain't no love en mercy anywhars dis side de blinkin', grinnin' stars. Don't tell me er nigger's prayers is answered. Didn't I pray las' night till my tongue was swelled in my mouf fer um ter spare my boy? En what in de name er all created was de answer? When de day broke wid de same sun shinin' dat was shinin' when he laid de fus time on my breas', de news was fetch me dat my baby chile was dragged out wid er rope rounst his neck, prayin' ter men whilst I was prayin' ter God. Look lak dat enough, hein? But no, nex' come de news dat ef he'd er lived one short hour longer dey might er let 'im go 'ca'se dey foun' de right one. Look lak dat enough, too, hein? But nex' come de word, en de las' message: innocent or no, right one or wrong one, my chile wasn't goin' ter have a common bury in'-place--not even in de Potter's Fiel' dis book tell erbout so big. Don't talk ter me! Ef prayers fum niggers is answered mine was heard in hell, en old Scratch en all his imps er darkness was managin' it. Don't come near me! I might lay han's on you. I ain't myself. I heard er low trash white man say once dat niggers was des baboons. I may be one, en er wild one fer all I know--oh, honey, don't pay no 'tention ter me. Yo' ol' mammy is bein' burnt at de stake en she ain't 'sponsible. She love you, honey--she love you even in 'er gre't trouble.” “I understand, mammy,” and Helen put her arms around the old woman's neck. An almost overpowering impulse had risen in her to tell the old sufferer the truth, but thinking that some of the negroes might be listening, and remembering her promise, she restrained herself. “I'm going to write a note to Carson to come up at once,” she said. “He'll have something to tell you, mammy.” And passing the negroes about the door she went to the house, and hastening into the library she wrote and forwarded by a servant the following note: _“Dear Carson,--Come at once, and come prepared to tell her. I can't stand it any longer. Do, do come._ _“Helen.”_ CHAPTER XXX [Illustration: 9269] ALF an hour later Helen, waiting at the front gate, saw a horse and buggy turn the corner down the street. She recognized it as belonging to Keith Gordon. Indeed, Keith was driving, and with him was Carson Dwight. Helen's heart bounded, a vast weight of incalculable responsibility seemed to lift itself from her. She unlatched the gate and swung it open.