Suddenly and without warning the sky was overcast.  A squall struck the boat and tore away the sail.  In the distance a huge billow—­a great white wall of water—­came sweeping toward their frail craft, threatening it with instant destruction.  She clasped her child to her bosom, and a moment later found herself struggling in the sea, holding the child’s head above the water.  As she floated there, as though sustained by some unseen force, she saw in the distance a small boat approaching over the storm-tossed waves.  Straight toward her it came, and she had reached out her hand to grasp its side, when the rower looked back, and she saw that it was her sister.  The recognition had been mutual.  With a sharp movement of one oar the boat glided by, leaving her clutching at the empty air.  She felt her strength begin to fail.  Despairingly she signaled with her disengaged hand; but the rower, after one mute, reproachful glance, rowed on.  Mrs. Carteret’s strength grew less and less.  The child became heavy as lead.  Herself floating in the water, as though it were her native element, she could no longer support the child.  Lower and lower it sank,—­she was powerless to save it or to accompany it,—­until, gasping wildly for breath, it threw up its little hands and sank, the cruel water gurgling over its head,—­when she awoke with a start and a chill, and lay there trembling for several minutes before she heard little Dodie in his crib, breathing heavily.

She rose softly, went to the crib, and changed the child’s position to an easier one.  He breathed more freely, and she went back to bed, but not to sleep.

She had tried to put aside the distressing questions raised by the discovery of her father’s will and the papers accompanying it.  Why should she be burdened with such a responsibility, at this late day, when the touch of time had well-nigh healed these old sores?  Surely, God had put his curse not alone upon the slave, but upon the stealer of men!  With other good people she had thanked Him that slavery was no more, and that those who once had borne its burden upon their consciences could stand erect and feel that they themselves were free.  The weed had been cut down, but its roots remained, deeply imbedded in the soil, to spring up and trouble a new generation.  Upon her weak shoulders was placed the burden of her father’s weakness, her father’s folly.  It was left to her to acknowledge or not this shameful marriage and her sister’s rights in their father’s estate.

Balancing one consideration against another, she had almost decided that she might ignore this tie.  To herself, Olivia Merkell,—­Olivia Carteret,—­the stigma of base birth would have meant social ostracism, social ruin, the averted face, the finger of pity or of scorn.  All the traditional weight of public disapproval would have fallen upon her as the unhappy fruit of an unblessed union.  To this other woman it could have had no such significance,—­it had been the lot of her race.  To them, twenty-five years before, sexual sin had never been imputed as more than a fault.  She had lost nothing by her supposed illegitimacy; she would gain nothing by the acknowledgment of her mother’s marriage.