“So would I. I wish I could die myself.”

“Oh, Iola, do not talk so.  Strive to be a Christian, to have faith in the darkest hour.  Were it not for my hope of heaven I couldn’t stand all this trouble.”

“Mother, are these people Christians who made these laws which are robbing us of our inheritance and reducing us to slavery?  If this is Christianity I hate and despise it.  Would the most cruel heathen do worse?”

“My dear child, I have not learned my Christianity from them.  I have learned it at the foot of the cross, and from this book,” she said, placing a New Testament in Iola’s hands.  “Some of the most beautiful lessons of faith and trust I have ever learned were from among our lowly people in their humble cabins.”

“Mamma!” called a faint voice from the adjoining room.  Marie immediately arose and went to the bedside of her sick child, where Mammy Liza was holding her faithful vigils.  The child had just awakened from a fitful sleep.

“I thought,” she said, “that I heard Iola’s voice.  Has she come?”

“Yes, darling; do you want to see her?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, as a bright smile broke over her dying features.

Iola passed quickly into the room.  Gracie reached out her thin, bloodless hand, clasped Iola’s palm in hers, and said:  “I am so glad you have come.  Dear Iola, stand by mother.  You and Harry are all she has.  It is not hard to die.  You and mother and Harry must meet me in heaven.”

Swiftly the tidings went through the house that Gracie was dying.  The servants gathered around her with tearful eyes, as she bade them all good-bye.  When she had finished, and Mammy had lowered the pillow, an unwonted radiance lit up her eye, and an expression of ineffable gladness overspread her face, as she murmured:  “It is beautiful, so beautiful!” Fainter and fainter grew her voice, until, without a struggle or sigh, she passed away beyond the power of oppression and prejudice.

CHAPTER XIII.

A REJECTED SUITOR.

Very unexpected was Dr. Gresham’s proposal to Iola.  She had heartily enjoyed his society and highly valued his friendship, but he had never been associated in her mind with either love or marriage.  As he held her hand in his a tell-tale flush rose to her cheek, a look of grateful surprise beamed from her eye, but it was almost immediately succeeded by an air of inexpressible sadness, a drooping of her eyelids, and an increasing pallor of her cheek.  She withdrew her hand from his, shook her head sadly, and said:—­

“No, Doctor; that can never be.  I am very grateful to you for your kindness.  I value your friendship, but neither gratitude nor friendship is love, and I have nothing more than those to give.”

“Not at present,” said Dr. Gresham; “but may I not hope your friendship will ripen into love?”

“Doctor, I could not promise.  I do not think that I should.  There are barriers between us that I cannot pass.  Were you to know them I think you would say the same.”