"She better be," said the washerwoman, who happened to stop at the window a few seconds. "All de coffins erbout heah is fur heabenly-sized people."

Agnes, in a rage at this interruption, turned and threw the rolling-pin at the washerwoman, but she was at a safe distance.

"Tesney, Agnes said that she would explain this whole affair to you."

"Missus Wakely, you has knowed ole Agnes er long, long time, an' jes' as sho' as you an' me is gwine ter de same heaben, jes' so sho' I wus gwine ter tell dis chile de whole truth, but she kep' on makin' de lookin'-gla.s.s talk erbout her face an' her haih dat I jes' thought I'd fling out er little hint an' lay low."

"I knew your father, Tesney; and, as Agnes says, he was a negro."

"I reckons you'll beliebe now," shouted Agnes. "De white folks done said so."

"Heah is yo' rollin'-pin," said the washerwoman, as she paused at the window on her return.

"Hand it heah," demanded Agnes.

"I will when you is ob er sweet temper," answered the washerwoman.

"Please to explain about my father and the ring."

"Your father, Tesney," Mrs. Wakely went on, "was reared in Mr. Bankner's family. He married a woman whom none of us, save Agnes, ever knew.

Shortly after the death of your mother, he killed a man in self-defense.

Mr. Bankner's people, knowing the circ.u.mstances, furnished your father money with which to escape. Mr. Bankner, a few weeks before he gave me the ring, saw your father and told him of you. Your father bought the ring, had the inscription put in it, and intended to bring it to you himself. However, at the request of Mr. Bankner he had returned to the scene of the killing for trial, and was mobbed. Mr. Bankner secured the ring before his death, and gave it to me for you. Now, as we are to leave for the West within a year, Mr. Bankner would like to have you serve in his family. He holds himself somewhat responsible for your father's death, and would like to help you. I would have told you this before, but Agnes asked me to leave it to her."

Mrs. Wakely now left the room, giving Agnes a stern look on her way out.

"Aunt Agnes," sobbed Tesney, "I have been deceived as to my father, and maybe as to my mother."

"Has you bin deceibed in me too, chile?"

"Yes."

"Den ma'ry George, an' be deceibed in him."

"It cannot be, Aunt Agnes."

"Now I'll say de res' ob dat speech I tol' you erbout. You may ma'ry George yit. Mr. Bankner may heah from dis. He _shall_ heah from it. Do you think he'd ever let you stay in his house den?"

Tesney left the room in silence.

"George, you triflin' rascal, come heah. I got things started, son.

Listen! Watch me! You don't desarbe it, but watch me. Tell Mr. Bankner dat Tesney says dat he is her father. Go! You good as got Tesney now.

Go!" As George went out the door, Agnes added: "Dat's er triflin'

rascal, but he's my George." Agnes began to grind the coffee, but stopped to abuse the cook.

George contrived to have the message of Agnes reach Mr. Bankner's ears.

Agnes, in turn, told Tesney that the rich white man knew of her suspicion. Tesney looked at the ring, and said: "I am Tesney the deceived."

A few months after this Mr. Bankner sent his wife and children to Europe, and came to board with Mrs. Wakely. Tesney, knowing that George had had his mother's message delivered, feared the result. She worried until she was a mere skeleton of her former self.

"I cannot face my blunder," she said. "I must leave."

She accordingly rented a room and lived alone. In a short time she took to her bed as the result of isolation and worry.

When Agnes heard of Tesney's illness she said: "Dis is our chance, son."

Her three hundred and fifty pounds were soon at Tesney's bedside. Tesney was flighty. George and the preacher came. George held her hand while the preacher asked questions. George answered for himself, and Agnes answered for Tesney.

A week pa.s.sed. Tesney arose from her pillow and said to Agnes: "Are you here?"

"Yes, chile," answered Agnes; "an' George, yo' husban', is heah, too."

"George, my husband!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tesney.

"Yes, child," said the preacher, who happened to be present, "I married you to him a week ago."

Tesney swooned, and fell back upon her pillow. When next conscious of her surroundings, Tesney found herself in bed in a log cabin, with her three-hundred-and-fifty-pound tormentor still at her side.

From that time until her death she was a prisoner. Not more than a dozen times did she seem sane. She would stand before the gla.s.s and ask for her old self. Sometimes she called Agnes a girl. Then she would call her a woman.

"Agnes," said she, on one occasion, "here is a rope. Let us skip."

When Tesney's baby boy was between three and four weeks old George was killed in a drunken brawl. Two days afterward he was buried, a short distance from the house. Tesney was in bed. Agnes did not go to the grave. She dragged her three hundred and fifty pounds out doors to cool, cry, and repent.

Tesney took a looking-gla.s.s from under her pillow and looked at herself.

"Tesney has come back again," she said. "This is her face. This is her hair. Tesney has come back again." Then turning to the wasting child at her side, she said: "Don't cry, little rascal. You are a George, like your father. Little fool, don't cry. Night will soon come. You may go then. Cry, cry, little George! Stop! Stop!"

Tesney fell asleep. After several hours she was awakened by the crying of her baby. It was night. She took the baby in her arms and stole softly out of the house in her bare feet. She went straight to George's grave and sat down upon it.

"Little rascal," said she to the baby, "your father is in the ground and can't steal me any more. Agnes can't follow me. You must not be a big George. How you are growing! Stop! I'll hold your legs and arms. Stop!

You won't? You must!"

She dug a hole in the top of the grave with her hands. She placed the baby in it, and covered it as well as she could. She then sat on a stump nearby and said not a word for several minutes. Tesney, sitting there, paid no heed to the rising wind, nor the distant flash of the lightning.

Presently it thundered. She arose, put her hand to her ear, like one at a telephone, and waited. It thundered again. She leaned to listen. There was more lightning.

"My name?" asked she. "It is Tesney." There were renewed thunder and lightning. "My baby?" asked she. "I sent it up. Is it there?" Again it thundered, again the lightning flashed. "It is not there?" she asked. "I must come with it? All right! Welcome!" She ran to the grave and uncovered the baby. It kicked feebly and gave a faint cry. "I knew you were still here," she said. "The Voice of the Clouds said so." A terrible storm was breaking. "Listen, little rascal: We go together.

Listen! The Voice is coming. We go! We go!"

These were her last words. She embraced the baby and sat calmly down upon the grave amid the raging elements. The storm's fury lasted an hour or more. The next morning Tesney and the baby were lying dead on George's grave.

Agnes had Tesney and the baby buried in the same grave with George.

After ten years of terrible mental and bodily suffering Agnes died. A certain part of each day during this time she spent looking at Tesney's ring and praying aloud. Some said that her intense agony and earnest prayer thoroughly purged her soul of guilt. Others said not so. G.o.d knows.

REGNAN'S ANNIVERSARY