ADDED SORROWS.
Gentle reader, we could not if we would, and we would not if we could,
lead you through the darkened chambers of Erma's soul on the days
succeeding the trial and sentence of her brother. The aching of the
cords of love that bound her to John, the fear of the reproach of her
dead mother, the jubilation of the mob, the seeming abandonment of her
by Providence, were too much for her human frame, and she fell
dangerously ill, adding bodily to spiritual afflictions. It was anguish
to those whose duty it was to sit by her bedside at her home. One day
when Erma was resting a little more quietly than usual, those in
attendance upon her handed her a sealed letter, the envelope being one
of mourning. Erma looked at the letter fearfully, and turned her eyes,
now full of tears, up to God, as if in reproach of the way he was
allowing the millstones to grind her to powder. Erma was trembling as
she tore open the letter and sought first of all for the signature. The
letter was from Margaret Marston. It read thus:
"MY DEAR ERMA:
"Our family physician came to see me this morning, and he tells
me that I am a ruined girl. I know only too well that all he
says is true. So I am going to New York to do I know not what.
I write you this letter to beg you to forgive me for a wrong
which I perpetrated against you long since. You will remember
that our doctor, who was here to witness my disgrace this
morning, had you put out of church because you went to work. I
was the one who worked up that sentiment against you and caused
your ejection. I, the one who was above work, trying to act
like the white society girl, should have been thrown out
instead of yourself. It was my idleness, my failure to earn
money, my attempt to keep up with the fashions set by the
wealthy that has wrought my ruin. Horace Christian, whom we met
at Mrs. Turner's fete, won my love. My love of him, coupled
with my desire to dress, my poverty, my failure to seek such
work as abounded, my idleness and that peculiar influence which
a distinguished man of a distinguished race exercises over a
poor girl too appreciative of what appears to her a
condescension--these things were forces too powerful for me to
resist, and so I fell. Erma, never allow Mrs. Turner to bring
our girls into such contact again, as a young white man has
nothing on earth to deter him from wrecking our homes. There is
no penalty for his offense before the law nor in society. No
sort of ostracism overtakes him anywhere for taking advantage
of the weaknesses of Negro girls. How free the young white man
feels under existing social conditions to prey upon our morals!
Our families are so filled with contempt over our disgrace that
they seek not to avenge our fall. So, I go on my downward
journey, and Mr. Christian moves upward to the highest places
within the gift of his people. Do what you can, Erma, to see
that a similar fate overtakes not another girl. Farewell.
"MARGARET."
"Let me up! Let me up!" cried Erma, springing from the couch on which
she lay.
Despite the protests and the determined resistance of her attendants,
Erma was soon dressed and walking rapidly toward Mrs. Turner's. Her
attendants, thinking that the shock had perhaps cured Erma of her
troubles, which were more mental than physical, contented themselves
with following her at a distance. She entered Mrs. Turner's home, and
said, "Mrs. Turner, I trusted your word that you were introducing us to
gentlemen. Now behold the work of Horace Christian." She thereupon
handed Mrs. Turner the letter, and waited anxiously for her comment.
Mrs. Turner's face flushed with anger as she read of the baseness of
Horace Christian. She said, "Erma, I cannot recall Margaret Marston to a
pure existence, 'tis true, but I shall see to it that the same
punishment is meted to that scoundrel Christian that would befall him if
Margaret were my own daughter Franzetta. The honor of my home is
involved, and be assured that we have come upon one white man, the
despoiler of a Negro home, that shall not escape unpunished. Trust that
to me. Ah, Erma! I fear that the social factor must be ever missing in
the solution of your race problem. Wherever and whenever, in other
countries, race problems have arisen (and there have been many such to
arise), the softening influences of the marriage tie and social
intermingling have acted upon the icebergs of race prejudice like a
southern sun. But my efforts prove that this factor must ever be
missing. It is sad, sad, sad, but it is inevitable. The marriage tie we
do not want. All social functions gravitate in that direction, we see;
the two cannot be disassociated. As we do not desire the one, we must
not tolerate the other, I find at so sad a cost. I wash my hands of the
attempt. God knows that my heart was true. But, Christian! Christian!
Tremble, wretch, wherever you are! Stay, Erma, I wish to call up Mr.
Lanier." She went to the telephone and called up Mr. Lanier, urging him
to come to her house at once. He came, and Erma retired to another room
while they talked. They were thus engaged for about three hours.
Finally, they called in Erma. There was a happy, relieved look on Mrs.
Turner's face, and a grave one on Lanier's.
Mr. Lanier said, "Miss Wysong, Mrs. Turner has told me all. By the heart
of my sainted mother, and upon the honor of my virgin sister, I swear to
you that Margaret Marston shall be avenged. Again, let me say that, to
my mind, your brother is entitled to mercy, and he shall not hang."
Erma sprang to Mr. Lanier's side, grasped him by the arm and looked
searchingly into his face, but he said no more. Bidding the two adieu,
he left, haunted by Erma's beautiful face, where all the sorrow of the
world seemed to have taken up its abode.