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 of her own but the only words that came to her lips were those of the Lord's prayer. These she murmured with pathetic tenderness as a lonely feeling enveloped her. "Forgive us our trespasses," she murmured, "as we forgive those who trespass against us." As she continued to the end of the prayer her soul seemed to take cheer and her depression departed. As depression disappeared the vision of her lover filled her mind and long she remained in the chair, her head bowed thinking of Bennet and wondering where he was.

Finally she arose and went to her room determined to write telling Bennet of the storm she was facing. "I don't mind the storm, Dear, she wrote. I live for you and I know that the Good God above will bring our love to a happy ending. I am suffering so, Truman, Dear. Suffering for you," she continued pathetically. "Suffering for my father who has taken it so heavily. If he only knew you as I know you and as your friends know you! I fear he will be hard to win over. I don't know what will be the end, but this I know. I love you—love you—and always will.

"I see things so differently now. We are all of one blood. Particularly are you and I of one blood for you are more white than otherwise. I have learned that nationality matters not where character and culture and heart have sway. We are a benighted people down here. Blinded by the prejudice of years of slavery and selfishness; clinging to the tenacles of a past age and condition while all the rest of the world is moving along.