A few hours later Mrs. Hunter tried to say cheerily, "Come, Mary, here is
a fine little girl for you to love and live for."

"Aunty," said the mother calmly, "I am dying. Let me see my child and kiss
her. Then put her next my heart till it is cold."

Mrs. Hunter lifted her startled eyes to the physician, who sadly nodded
his head in acquiescence. In a few moments more the broken heart found
healing far beyond all human passion and strife.

With hot, yet tearless eyes, and a face that appeared to be chiselled from
marble in its whiteness and rigidity, the aunt took up the child. Her tone
revealed the indescribable intensity of her feelings as she said, "Thy
name is Mara--bitterness."




CHAPTER III

UNCLE SHEBA'S EXPERIENCE


Many years have elapsed since the events narrated in the last chapter
occurred, and the thread of story is taken up again in the winter of 1886.
In a small dwelling, scarcely more than a cabin, and facing on an obscure
alley in Charleston, a rotund colored woman of uncertain age is sitting by
the fire with her husband. She is a well-known character in the city, for
she earns her bread by selling cakes, fruits, and other light articles