Lethe was a notorious gossip, and Lizzie, being an omnivorous listener,
there was little need to fear a moment of monotony during the time they
were together. Not a member present escaped criticism or ridicule;
Lizzie’s keen enjoyment helping to encourage Lethe’s loquacious humor.
And when her knowledge of the doings and sayings of her colored friends
was exhausted, she was able to recount any number of ludicrous stories
about “de w’ite-folks”; irrespective of their station; whether they were
“nothin’ but parties an’ parties wid no fam’ly o’ people,” or “p’yo
w’ite-folks wid high-up connection.”
Desiring a share of the honor of entertaining, Lizzie told some of her
amusing adventures on the steamboat when along with Chester; of her
visit to Susan’s cook shop that evening, and her unpleasant encounter
with Felo; which account she embroidered elaborately for the better
satisfaction of the amazed Lethe, whom she soon discovered to be Felo’s
particular friend.
“An’ you say you lef’ Felo yonder to Susan cook shop?” Lethe asked with
curious interest.
“Lef’ him yonder eatin’ an’ drinkin’, wid Scilla an’ Soongy an’ Carm’lite
an’ Nookie, an’ Unc’ Nat an’ some yuther mens,” Lizzie informed her. “An’
maybe dey got a heap mo’ wimmins by now, ’cause you know I’m bin gone
from yonder a good w’ile.”
This was unwelcome news to Lethe. Her forehead settled into a deep frown,
and gazing into space, she thought aloud:
“An’ de ole smooth-tongue hypocrite goin’ come home long aft’ hours
tonight, w’en I be in bed, an’ goin’ say he jus’ come from Mr. Amos
house, ’cross de river.... But wait;—I’m goin’ fix him dis blessed night
o’ my Lawd, sho as I’m bawn.”
Looking at her in wonderment, Lizzie asked:
“W’at you mean, Lethe? You goin’ to Sis’ Fanny house an’ wait till Felo
come home?”
“Wa’t you think goin’ take me to Sis’ Fanny house, w’en I got a good
house o’ my own?” she returned, with a show of impatience.
“Den how you goin’ see Felo aft’ you done gone to bed?”
“Lizzie, ain’t you know Felo bin stay’n wid me to my house evvy Sunday
night for a long time? You ain’ think Felo come all de way clean ’cross
de river jes’ to go to de New Hope church, is you?”
“I know he all time braggin’ ’bout bein’ a good Chrishtun,” Lizize said,
with cautious innocence. “But I ain’ never heayh’d ’im bring yo’ name in
de queshtun no time.”
Lethe’s mind was busy chasing after her wandering thoughts. “So da’s w’at
make him come late all de time,” she ruminated. “Goin’ yonder to Susan
cook shop. Den comin’ hyuh wid a lie in ’is mouf, ’bout Mr. Amos keepin’
’im late.”
“Mens is mens, Lethe,” Lizzie consoled her. “An’ you think Felo gotta
be diffunt from de res’ dese niggers, jes’ because he bin livin’ to Mr.
Amos house so long an’ know somh’n ’bout w’ite-folks ways?.... Who? It
sho goin’ take a better man den ole ’ceitful Felo to keep me from havin’
my pleasure, w’en de worl’ so big an’ handy to play ’roun’ in.... Git
up from hyuh, Lethe; an’ rub dem wrinkles out yo’ face, an’ leave us go
up yonder an’ sing ove’ Aun’ Milly.... Come on. Dey done start “Po’ Li’l
Jesus,” an’ ’twon’ be long befo’ de whole buildin’ be rockin’.... Come
on, lessus go.”
Lethe looked at her dejectedly. “Go ’head, an’ sing much as you please,”
she said, “I’m goin’ home.”
And as Lizzie left her, she walked out.
However inconsistent Felo’s ideas of theology might appear, there were
three important purposes he endeavored to live up to with a sincerity
that became him nobly. Three purposes he took great pleasure in making
known at all times: “To hol’ a high head an’ keep a good name ’munks de
cullud folks”; “to stick close to Mr. Amos, and look aft’ his welfare
long’s he staid single”; and, “to hol’ cov’nan wid Gawd an’ serve Jesus
long as I got my good sense.”
The first of these, interpreted by many of his unsympathetic friends as
a sort of unseemly arrogance, which they called his “biggidy ways,” won
for him the name of “w’ite-folks nigger.” While the second brought him
the assurance of a permanent home, and fixed his standing as a member of
the household, a sort of heir by annexation;—“joint arran’ de fam’ly,” as
he called it. As he and Mr. Amos had been playmates from early childhood,
his connection in reality was more like that of a faithful friend, than
the position of a common servant without rights and privileges. And to
keep faith with Mr. Amos and hold his confidence and lasting respect, was
next to keeping his covenant with God.
When he came back to work the day after his visit to Susan’s cook shop,
he was conscious of something having happened which might shake this
feeling of trust; and the burdening thought troubled him sorely. Try as
he would, he was unable to free himself of the haunting fact or invent a
reasonable excuse to explain his somber mood, which he was certain would
not escape Mr. Amos’s attention. Song, at all times an easy means for
expressing the gladness or turbulence of his emotional soul, now deserted
him completely. And when he tried to pray, his mind went groping about in
a wilderness of mist and fog, unable to find a word or thought that would
bring him any spiritual relief.
To elude Mr. Amos was out of the question; because it was an understood
custom, that Felo must sit across the room and talk while Mr. Amos ate;
giving a detailed account of his week-end trip across the river, with the
doings and sayings of his colored friends, most of whom Mr. Amos knew
from early childhood. It was always a delightful conference, and Mr. Amos
encouraged it with genuine interest.
A quiet evening spent at home alone with Felo, he declared, was sure
to be an evening of picturesque thought and spontaneous, refreshing
entertainment. Because humble Felo had more to offer in the way of
colorful, living literature, than one could ever expect to find at the
colorless teas and elaborate dinner parties of many pseudo-literary white
friends.
As Mr. Amos sat down to eat, Felo took his accustomed chair on the
opposite side of the room near the door leading to the kitchen, where he
would be in readiness during the progress of the meal. He sat quietly,
his gaze fixed on the floor rug, staring into infinitude; his arms
hanging aimlessly by the sides of his chair.
In the center of the table was a shallow dark green bowl filled with
dainty, pink wild mimosa blossoms; the unusual color combination together
with the acquisition of the rare little flowers, causing Mr. Amos to
wonder in silent admiration. After a while he said to Felo:
“Were did you get the lovely ‘touch-me-nots,’ so late in the season?”
“Yonder in Gritny,” came the reply; slow and apathetic.
“From your mother’s garden?”
“Ma ain’ got no time to play wid no garden; wid all dem chillun an’ dat
hog she got to look to.”
“Then I suppose you bought them?” Mr. Amos persisted.
“Who goin’ buy tetch-me-not flow’rs, w’en dey got ’um growin’ wil’ like
grass, all up an’ down de railroad track?”
“Well,” said Mr. Amos, “wherever they came from, they’re very lovely; and
I suppose I must thank you for bringing them to me.”
Felo made no reply, but sat looking at the floor vacantly. His silence
was unusual and Mr. Amos wondered at it. Felo was always ready for
conversation. Was there anything the matter, Mr. Amos asked him.
After a slight hesitation, he answered in a subdued tone:
“Man, eat yo’ li’l foods, an’ don’ worry ’bout me.”
Wondering at the polite indifference, Mr. Amos asked:
“What ails you, Felo, are you ill?”
Folding his arms slowly, he leaned forward on his knees and looked away
from Mr. Amos as he spoke:
“Man, eat yo’ foods, for Gawd sake; an’ don’ ask so many inquis’tun
queshtun. Git thoo so I kin wash dese dishes an’ go yonder to my room.”
“What’s the matter with you tonight?” Mr. Amos asked with a show of
impatience. “Are you sick? Are you tired? Anything the matter at home?”
“Man, don’ plague me,” he answered appealingly. “Be still an’ don’ worry
me. Do I look like anybody sick?”
“You look about as healthy as somebody dead and buried,” Mr. Amos
answered, smiling playfully. “What happened to you that you look so
forlorn and friendless?”
Attempting a bravado manner, he said:
“Nobody but de devil sont you hyuh to plague me tonight. My feelin’s is
my feelin’s; an’ nothin’ ain’ goin’ change ’um. So ’tain no use talkin’
an’ try’n tell w’at make ’um so.”
“Alright, deacon,” Mr. Amos answered, with an air of feigned
indifference. “If you think there’s nothing I can do to help you smooth
out the kinks, whatever they are, so be it.”
Felo remained silent until Mr. Amos was about to leave the room. Seeing
him start towards the stairway, he asked:
“You ain’ goin’ out tonight, is you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, y’oughta stay home some time an’ git yo’ night-res’.... All time
runnin’ out in de night air an’ fros’, exposin’ yo’self like you does;
wid de win’ searchin’ ’roun yo’ ankles an’ things, an’ blowin’ ’cross yo’
body an’ keep you lookin’ so puny.”
“How about yourself?” Mr. Amos asked him. “You don’t seem to be concerned
about the night air and the wind when you go rambling about? I suppose
being a deacon of the church, you have some special arrangement with God
to temper the elements to your convenience?”
“Look. Leave dat be jes’ like it is,” he said abruptly, “I’m thinkin’
’bout who got to look aft’ you w’en you git flat o’ yo’ back an’ can’
help yo’self no mo’. ’Tain nobody but Felo got to be plague’ wid you.
Da’s de one thing make me cuncern yonder wid de future.... But de main
thing I ax you,—befo’ you commence all dis heavy comasation,—is you goin’
out tonight?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Well, w’en I git thoo in de kitchen, I wan’ talk wid you confidenshun.”
Mr. Amos laughed good-naturedly, saying to him:
“I’ll be upstairs, ready to listen to your tale of rape or robbery,
whichever it might be. But come with a different face than the one you
wear now. I don’t want to have bad dreams tonight.”
With a heroic attempt to smile, he answered, as Mr. Amos walked away:
“Go ’head upstairs, for Gawd sake. You all time ready to play too much.”
After finishing all his chores in the kitchen, Felo went through the
house, seeing that all the windows and doors were fastened, before he
went upstairs. Going into the room where Mr. Amos was, he found him lying
on the bed reading, with the cat asleep on his chest. The cat, like Mr.
Amos, was one of Felo’s constant worries. He didn’t know which one of
them was “de wusser.” It was a splendid excuse for him to expostulate.
“Y’awter put dat ole cat out-doahs. All two of you keep dis place lookin’
like a fatal rabbit-nes’, de way yo’ hair be fallin’ ove’ evvything.
I kin shake dem blankets till my two arms be stiff, an’ de hair yet
hanging’ to ’um. An’ de onles way to git y’all hair off des flo’-rugs,—I
gotta git down on my knees an’ brush ’um wid a swiss-broom.”
Mr. Amos put his book aside and laughed heartily.
“Keep on!” Felo began again. “One dese nights you goin’ see dat same cat
cut yo’ breath fum you; lay’n ’cross yo’ buzzum like dat.... An’ some
dese w’ite-folks only goin’ be too glad to say ’twan nobody but nigger
Felo did ’way wid you. An’ who you reckon goin’ be hyuh in de house to
put it on de cat, aft’ dey done spread de news?... Nobody. Da’s who.”
Mr. Amos looked at him and asked quietly:
“Did you come up here to give a lecture on the cat? Or did you say you
had something worrying you, and you wanted to talk about it?”
“I come up hyuh to look aft’ yo’ comfut,” he replied, taking a pillow
from the opposite side of the bed and making ready to arrange it under
Mr. Amos’s head.
“Hyuh; lemme slip dis pilluh und’ yo’ head; an’ leave dat ole cat slide
down further on yo’ stummic, whah ’tain so dang’us.”
This little attention performed, Felo sat down in the rocking chair and
began looking about the room, uncertain how to start his communication.
After an awkward silence, he asked:
“You goin’ keep on readin’?”
“What have you got to say?” Mr. Amos questioned, without looking away
from his book.
“Man, put yo’ book down, an’ be soshable,” he commanded. “You ain’
sattafy peepin’ up in books all day long, you gotta come hyuh at
night-time strainin’ yo’ eyesight over agin?... W’a’s de matter, you don’
wan’ talk?”
“No; I want to listen,” said Mr. Amos, closing the book and putting it
aside. “What have you to tell me?”
“I wan’ tell you ’bout a upsetment me an’ Lethe had las’ night,” he began
apologetically. “I know Lethe done blabbed it all over Gritny by now; an’
I know she goin’ tell Miss Tilly; an’ Miss Tilly sho ain’ goin’ miss tell
you soon’s she see you; so I wan’ tell you de whole thing so you know de
straight tale w’en you hyeah it fum somebody else.”
Whereupon he gave a careful account of his visit to Aunt Susan’s cook
shop; the members he met and talked with there; his misunderstanding with
Lizzie, and his late visit to the church; where he learned that Lethe
had gone home in a sullen frame of mind over some wilful misinformation
communicated to her by the vengeful Lizzie. Leaving the church with the
wake in full swing, he told how he went to Lethe’s house, to find that
she had gone to bed. He knocked on the door and she got up and let him
in; finding fault with him for coming so late; and asking why he hadn’t
spent the night with the women he began the evening with so pleasantly at
Susan’s.
“I say to ’uh: For Gawd sake, Lethe, don’ try an’ raise no humbug late
in de night like dis. I ain’ come hyuh to make no squawble over any lie
Lizzie Cole done hatched up jes’ for spite.
“I say: I come hyuh like I do evvy Sunday night; ’cause I wan’ see you,
an’ ’cause I thinks somh’n ’bout you.... So dah whah I commence to
undress myself, an’ went to bed, ’cause I was sleepy.”
“Went to bed!” Mr. Amos exclaimed in playful amazement. “In Lethe’s
house?... I didn’t know that was part of the religious obligation of a
deacon of the church on Sunday night?”
“Dah ’tis again,” Felo commented, looking thoroughly abashed. “Da’s
de main reason I ain’ nev’ wan’ tell you nothin’ seecut. You all time
wan’ twis’ things to make people look foolish.... Ain’ Lethe an’ me bin
knowin’ each-another for a long time?... Ever sence she come yonder fum
Tuckapaw Parish,—an’ oughta be un’stan’ w’at our feelin’s is by now?”
“Then I suppose Lethe is what your Bible calls a concubine. You remember
Solomon had several hundred. But you must be careful not to have more
than two or three in Gretna. The ways of the church have changed since
Solomon’s day; and a deacon in Gretna is expected to hold a high head
among his people.”
“Man, leave de Bible be; an’ quit reachin’ way back yonder in ainshen
days to git somh’n to make game o’ people, an’ call ’um out dey name
dat-a-way. Lethe alright. An’ I kin give ’uh de praise ’bove inny cullud
ooman I know w’at ain’ got no husban’.”
“Then why don’t you do the decent thing and marry her?”
“Marry who?” He asked in open-eyed amazement. “You wan’ me marry Lethe
wid de high temper she got,—an’ jealous-hearted like she is, too?... Man,
you ain’ know w’at you say’n. You gotta see Lethe in a high passion like
I seen ’uh las’ night, befo’ you fix it in yo’ min’ dat me an’ Lethe
oughta marry each-another.”
Besides, Lethe was suspicious-minded; he went on enumerating. She was
ready to believe anything anybody told her. She had a tongue that wagged
at both ends and blabbed everything she knew. It’s bad for a nigger to
be like that. But could she tell what happened without exposing herself
too? Maybe she didn’t care about her reputation. But what would the
white folks think of him when they heard it? How would he ever reinstate
himself in the church if they brought him up before the moderator to make
explanation? The elder and the deacon were supposed to be more sanctified
than common members. But maybe Lethe wouldn’t say anything after all....
But what made her listen to that lying Lizzie, and ’cuse him of having
other women? Did he ever miss one Sunday night with her since they
fixed up the understanding between them?... But that’s the way with a
jealous-hearted woman; you never know what she is going to do. And you
just got to wrassle with them when they won’t listen to reason; and leave
them to take their comings, no matter how cheap it makes you feel when
everything is over.
“De mo’ I tried to talk easy an’ persuade ’uh she was wrong,” Felo
continued, “de mo’ louder she answer back; searchin’ in ’uh min’ for
nasty names to make me shame;—an’ me lay’n up in de bed strug’lin to git
some sleep. All at once, I raise my voice an’ say to ’uh: ‘Lethe, for
Gawd sake don’ be so shameless. Try an’ shut yo’ evil-thinkin’ fly-trap
an’ lay down an’ ax Gawd to help you pray.’ She ain’ said a word; but I
seen ’uh reach over to de pot-shelf an’ grab a skillet, an’ turn ’roun
an’ commence to come ’cross de room. Dah whah I jumped out de bed, an’
was huntin’ on de flo’ for my pants, w’en she say: ‘Whah you think you
goin’?’
“I say: Lethe, I ain’ come hyuh tonight to make no brawl wid no foolish
’ooman. I’m goin’ yonder to Sis’ Fanny house whah I b’long, an’ lay down
wid a peaceful min’, an’ not be upset wid a shameless thing like you is.
“She say: ‘You goin’ home, is you?... Well, w’en you does go, I wan’ tell
you ’tain’ nobody but me an’ Gawd be witness you goin’ ’way from hyuh
cripple....’
“An’ dah whah she made at me wid de skillet, jes’ w’en I was pullin’ on
one my pants laigs. I drapped de thing on de flo’, an’ grabbed hol’ the
skillet an’ wrenched it out ’uh han’; w’en she come up at me full-fo’ce,
like she wan’ scratch my face, either butt me,—dang’us-lookin’ as
innybody you ever seen.
“I ain’ stop to consider ’bout w’at to do; but I up wid de skillet an’
plastud it ’cross ’uh face haphazzud. An’ de nex’ thing I knowed, I seen
three teeth lay’n on de flo’, knocked clean out de front ’uh mouth....
“Did I felt ’shame’?” Felo answered, slightly disconcerted by Mr. Amos’s
unexpected reproof. “Da’s another subjec’.
“De thing w’at worried me mo’n anything else, was how I could git home
all dem five long blocks ’dout anybody seein’ me, aft’ I had re’lize I
comed away widout no pants on;—slippin’ long de street in de moonlight
wid blood all ove’ my und’shirt, runnin’ de risk o’ somebody comin’ up on
me an’ takin’ me for a rogue done commit murder, befo’ day in de mawnin’.
“I knowed Lethe could take care ’uhself. An’ I knowed she had salt in de
house; so I knowed soon she had stop de bleedin’ from de mouth, she be
out o’ danger.
“So w’en I reached home an’ got in bed, I sho did wrassel wid my soul,
an’ prayed hard to fall asleep. But Gawd mus’ bin vex wid me.... ’E helt
de sleep back from me; an’ I ain’ had a single wink o’ sleep de whole
night long.
“I tried to pray, but my min’ was upset wid all kind o’ confusion.... I
ain’ never notice befo’ how cows an’ creeters an’ things could be such
plumb nuisance in de night-time. Look like I could hyeah evvy rooster in
evvybody hen-house, crowin’ an’ ’nouncin’ de crackin’ o’ day all over
Gritny. An’ w’en de win’ blowed pass de house, I could heayh de a-ko
like a mul’tude o’ dogs barkin’ an’ callin’ at one-’nother, miles futher
away.... An’ between dat hog Ma Fanny got yonder in de yard, gruntin’
an’ goin’ on; an’ Miss Barb’ra cows nex’-do, keepin’ up such a mooin’
an’ a moanin’; it look like evvything was talkin’ ’bout some kin’ o’
tribulation an’ on-res’ful cundition....
“Even de mawkin-bird singin’ in de umbrella tree ’ginse de fence, ’is
voice so loud an’ screechy, it soun’ like he findin’ fault wid de moon
for shinin’ so bright. An’ I couldn’ help wishin’ de night air make ’im
ketch de so’ th’oat; den I know he had to keep still.
“I say to myself: Dis ain’ doin’ no good; lay’n hyuh frettin’, an’ big
day already come.... Lemme git up an’ dress an’ go walk out-do’as in de
fresh air.
“So dah whah I put on my clo’se an’ went ’roun to Lethe house to see’f I
could patch up de diffunce w’at comed up between us.
“I knocked on de do’ easy, but she ain’ answer. I knocked agin a li’l
louder, an’ call to ’uh, an’ she still ain’ answer.... I say: Maybe she
gone up de street to de doctor. I say: Lemme walk ’roun a li’l piece, an’
I come back later an’ maybe she be hyuh.
“So dah whah I went up de railroad track fur as de Chinee-men’s garden;
an’ I watched ’um hoein’ an’ plantin’ till almos’ a whole hour had pass;
den I start back. I walked slow, an’ picked a bunch o’ tetch-me-nots
to bring to Lethe; growin’ so plennyful ’long-side de track, wid de
night-jew on ’um, an’ lookin’ so pink an’ nice an’ sweet-smellin’.
“I got to de house an’ it was shet tight, but smoke was comin’ out de
chimley. I say: Da’s a good sign. She home; an’ she ain’ dead.... I
knocked on de do’, but she ain’ made no answer. I listen to see’f I could
hyeah walkin’ in de room, but evvything was still. I knocked once mo’ an’
still she ain’ answer. Den I call to ’uh. I say: Lethe, dis Felo.... I’m
on my way ’cross de river, an’ I come after my pants.
“Bimeby I could hyeah stirrin’ in de room; an’ nex’ thing I seen,—de
window cracked open a li’l piece, an’ my pants fell down on de gal’ry
flo’. An’ den de window shet tight, like nobody was in de house.
“I rolled de pants up in some newspaper I got to de Dago stan’; an’
crossed on de ferry-boat, an’ come hyuh to de castle to consult wid you
’bout w’at to do.... An’ now you got de whole story.”
“And the honor of hearing it well-told by the bold hero himself,” Mr.
Amos commented, looking at him with an amused smile.
“Man, don’ laugh an’ make game dat way,” returned Felo, with quiet
appeal. “Dis thing too much like a tawment to my soul to try an’ joke
’bout it.... How you reckon I’m goin’ feel if Lethe go blab de thing all
over Gritny, an’ de members bring me up befo’ de church? ’Tain nothin’ to
play wid. Dis subjec’ is _seerus_.”
“Then you’re not concerned a bit over the loss of Lethe’s teeth, are
you?” Mr. Amos asked him.
“Lethe ain’ got to worry ’bout ’uh teeth,” Felo assured him. “She know
she gotta look to me to pay de bill for fixin’ ’um. Lethe kin git new
teeth; but who you think goin’ puvvide me wid a good reppatashun, after
Lethe done spread de news, an’ my name bin walked on by a passul o’
mean-minded Gritny niggers?... W’ich one be de worse off den, me or
Lethe?”
“Don’t you suppose Lethe values her good name as much as you do yours?”
Mr. Amos argued with him. “If she exposes you, she exposes herself.
No woman with pride will do a thing like that. She’ll lie to protect
herself. And you’ll see that Lethe is no exception.”
Felo seemed greatly relieved, hearing this.
“Now, da’s de way I like to hyeah you talk,” he said. “Straighten de
thing out for me. Tell me w’at I mus’ do.”
“Go to see Lethe tomorrow and have an understanding with her,” Mr. Amos
suggested. “Tell her you’re sorry, and you want to set things right.
Explain your position in the church, and make her see hers as well. And
if she cares anything at all for you, she’ll certainly listen to reason.”
“Da’s suffishen,” Felo agreed, in a tone which seemed to tell that he was
resolved to fulfill his duty. Then came an after-thought:
“But I sho Gawd hope dem missin’ teeth in de front ’uh mouth goin’ make
’uh feel ’shame’ ’bout ’uh looks, an’ keep ’uh from goin’ in de street
till I git to see ’uh.”
“Start early in the morning,” Mr. Amos advised. “Take the day off, and
finish up the job before you come back.”
A smile of appreciation lighted his face and his voice resumed its
habitual cheerfulness.
“Man, you sho got a good head for somebody bin raised in Gritny. De onles
diffunce twix’ you an’ me: you wise-minded from readin’ in books an’
things; an’ po’ me, I ain’ got nothin’ but mother-wit.... But I’m goin’
do jes’ like you say; an’ leave hyuh firs’ thing in de mawnin’, soon as I
give you yo’ coffee.”
“And be sure to take the touch-me-nots with you to give to Lethe,” Mr.
Amos reminded him, with a playful smile.
Getting up from his chair suddenly, he pretended to be greatly annoyed,
and walked over to the bed-side to cover his embarrassment, saying:
“Man, git up from hyuh, wid dat ole cat, an’ lemme fix yo’ bed so you kin
lay down an’ sleep an’ stop thinkin’ up a whole lot o’ humbug.... Come
on; you done plague me enough for one night.... Lemme turn down de bed
for you, so I kin go lay down an’ pray.”
Next morning Felo was away from the house before eight o’clock, on his
way to Gretna to make peace with the belligerent Lethe. His mind was
disturbed by many conflicting emotions when he tried to think how she
would receive him.