by Jack Thorne
CHAPTER VII.
Molly's Atonement.
A few evenings after the unpleasant interview between Molly Pierrepontand Ben Hartright, Silas Wingate, chairman of the Republican ExecutiveCommittee, sat alone in his office. In that morning's mail had come tohim a letter from the Governor, full of discouraging news as to thechances of Republican success throughout the State, and advising thatfor the safety of life Republican candidates be withdrawn from thefield--a request unprecedented in the history of the State. "This wouldbe too cowardly a backdown," he soliloquized. "The situation is not soserious perhaps as the Governor imagines. Such bluffs the Democrats haveresorted to more than once before, but they didn't deter us in theleast. We put our ticket in the field and fought hard for its election."But never before had the chairman of the Executive Committee seen in NewHanover County such grim and warlike activity on the part of theDemocrats. The arming of the poor whites, the hiring of sternerimplements of war, secret house-to-house meetings, and the stern refusalof dealers to sell a black man a deadly weapon of any description or asmuch as an ounce of powder meant something more than bluff. Yet sostrong was the faith of Mr. Wingate in the integrity of the betterclasses of Wilmington's white citizens that he was slow to grasp thesituation although the evidence was so overwhelming. He took the letterfrom the desk and read it for the fourth time since receiving it,riveting his eyes long and intently upon the signature affixed. Of allthe years he had known the Governor he had never known him to shrink orshow cowardice in any form whatever, although he'd passed through suchcrises as would tend to test the mettle of any man, it matters not howbrave. "Surely the situation must be terrible!" finally observed Mr.Wingate, throwing the letter upon the desk and whirling around in hischair. "I will call a meeting and put the matter before the committee.When that man says back down then surely doomsday is not far off."
There was a timid knock at the door. Feeling that perhaps it was one ofhis colleagues dropping in for a chat upon the all-absorbing topic ofthe day, Mr. Wingate did not rise or turn his face in that direction,but simply bid the visitor enter. The latch was timidly turned, followedby light footsteps, accompanied by the rustle of skirts, and before hecould turn his head to see who this unexpected visitor might be, thefigure had glided up to his chair and two soft hands were pressed overhis eyes. "Now, just guess who it is. I will not release my hold untilyou do," was the soft command. "Now, as I was expecting only politiciansto-night and, of course, no visitor in petticoats, I should be excusedfrom trying to guess who you are on these grounds," answered Mr.Wingate, trying to force the hands which were firmly pressing down uponhis eyes. "In such times as these you are likely to see even the womenin the forefront in the fray, and doing even more than merely makingcalls," returned the visitor, releasing her hold and stepping in frontof Mr. Wingate. "Why, Molly Pierrepont! What brings you here?" exclaimedMr. Wingate, rising and staring at his visitor, who unceremoniously sankinto a chair. "I am somewhat interested in this campaignmyself--astonishing intelligence I know," calmly replied the visitor;"yet I am going to astonish you more by saying that I have informationto impart to the chairman of the Executive Committee that will be ofgreat value to him in conducting this campaign." Molly's calm demeanor,so unlike a woman of her disposition and temperament, struck Mr. Wingatesomewhat humorously. Molly Pierrepont, having chosen a life of shamethat she might--if only clandestinely--associate with and enjoy thefavors of the men of the white race, would be the last person of therace to take a stand in its defense to give aid to the Negro in hiscombat with the white man, politically or otherwise. Women of Molly'sstamp, possessing no race pride, had never been race defenders, so itwas plausible for Mr. Wingate to feel that the woman was jesting, orthat she was sent by his enemies into his camp as a spy. "In our presentdilemma the Republican Committee stands much in need of information andadvice," said Mr. Wingate, slowly. "Things are assuming quite a seriousaspect; you are in position to get a good deal of information as to themaneuvers of the enemy. But, my dear girl, if you are here to aid us,have you counted the cost?" Mr. Wingate knew that Molly Pierrepont wasthe mistress of one of Wilmington's best citizens, a bitter Democrat,and a reputed leader of the White Supremacy League; that she was wellcared for, that her gowns, etc., equaled in quality and constructionthose of her paramour's wife, and, considering her love for such easeand luxury, to come out and reveal the doings, and openly denounce theschemes of the party of her paramour, was a sacrifice that a woman ofher character was not generally ready to make--in fact, such thoughtsdid not find lodgment in her brain. In the flattering embrace of thePhilistine all noble aspirations ordinarily become extinct. Mr.Wingate's interrogation was followed by a brief pause, which causedMolly to move uneasily in her chair. "I see, Silas Wingate, that youquestion my sincerity," she said, slowly. "I can't blame you, though. Itis perfectly natural for such as I to be arrayed with the whites or beneutral, stifling all thoughts of being of service to my wronged people,because my life belies it. But I am sincere, Silas; believe me," andMolly reached over and laid her hand upon the arm of Mr. Wingate, whoselook betrayed his incredulity. "In spite of the lowliness of my birth,and the life I have chosen, some good remains in me." She went on: "Myfair complexion and life of ease have not made me forget that I amidentified with the oppressed and despised." "Thank God! thank God!"said Mr. Wingate, his face brightening. "There is a ring of sincerity inyour voice, my dear, that banishes doubt." "I come to-night to warn you,Silas," continued Molly. "Before many moons Wilmington will be the sceneof a bloody race war. Ben Hartright is my medium of information. He cameto my house last evening, and, imbued with the feeling that I was insympathy with the white element, revealed to me the dastardly plot inall its blood-curdling details." Mr. Wingate trembled and shook like anaspen leaf as Molly named the men and women singled out as victims."These people have ample time now to make good their escape. Tell them,Silas, that the best whites are in this move, and they are determined tocarry it to the bitter end, and their only safety is in flight. Bentells me that the plans are well laid, that men will be here to assistin the dirty work from as far South as Texas. I listened patiently toHartright's recital and then denounced him and his cohorts as infamouscowards!" "Did you dare?" exclaimed Mr. Wingate, gazing eagerly intoMolly's face. "I drove him from my presence." Mr. Wingate drew nigh andlaid his hand caressingly upon Molly's head. "You have risked much," hesaid, eagerly. "I fully realize that," returned Molly. "When he had leftme, what I had said and done came home with its full force, but, likeJephthah, I had sworn, and will not go back; and here now, as I didthen, I swear with uplifted hand to renounce forever my life of shame,and will be no longer a Magdalene!" "Angels record thy vow in heaven,"said Mr. Wingate. "You can, with God's help, be true to your vow, forMagdalene, who became one of the faithful, was a greater sinner thanyou, Molly." "But Magdalene perhaps never threw away the opportunitiesfor good that I have," answered Molly, who had arisen and begun to pacethe floor. "Magdalene is not charged with having spurned the love andsent to a premature grave a man who offered to honor and protect herthrough life." "Don't brood over the past, Molly," said Mr. Wingate, agrass-covered mound in Pine Forest Cemetery rising before him. "Let thedead past be gone." "I will not! I cannot!" said Molly, pausing. "Thepast will spur me to higher aims in the future. I never can forget thetime that Harold came to make a last plea to me to be his wife,expressing his willingness to make every sacrifice for my happiness. Hehad bright hopes of success in his profession. Yet I spurned his offerto live a life of shame with a white man. You know he went to Maconafterwards, and there as a physician built up quite a lucrativepractice. He wrote me often; he spoke of his prosperity and hisunhappiness without me to share it. He could not forget me. I tried toforget him by plunging deeper into sin. It's some three years ago nowsince the last letter came, in which he said, 'I am dying! dying! dyingfor you!' I tried to make light of it as perhaps merely a jest. But,Silas, you know that it's quite two years now since they buried theheart which I had broken in Pine Forest Cemetery
. Harold! Harold! If Icould only call you back with those sunny days of innocence. No oneknows but God what anguish I have suffered since you left me. But I wasunworthy of you, Harold, unworthy!" The woman had bowed her head uponthe desk and was sobbing convulsively. "Oh, that you could come back tome, Harold! Harold, tender and true. How gladly would I accept youroffer now, Harold. You would forgive me, unworthy me." Her voice sankinto an incoherent murmur. Mr. Wingate was deeply moved. He arose andbent over her.
"Courage, my child, courage," he whispered, soothingly. "You have juststarted out to do the noblest work of your life. There are many yearsbefore you to live nobly and amend for the past."
"'Up, faint heart, up! Immortal life Is lodged within thy frame. Then let no recreant tho't or deed Divert thy upward aim.
Shall earth's brief ills appall the brave? Shall manly hearts despond? Up, faint heart, up! The blackest cloud But veils the heavens beyond.'"
These inspired lines caused Molly to raise her head. "I must commandmyself," she said, firmly, "for what I have to do requires courage." Shearose and laid her hand caressingly upon Mr. Wingate's shoulder. "Youwill warn them, won't you, Silas? Keep the men from the polls. Surrendereverything. Better to lose a vote than lose a life." She moved towardthe door, Mr. Wingate following. Laying her hand upon the knob, shepaused and faced him. "Coming events cast their shadows before," shesaid. "I fear that our days of freedom are at an end in Wilmington.Good night," and Molly Pierrepont was gone. "Poor girl, poor girl," saidMr. Wingate, as he locked the door. "She might have been a queen, but,like the base Judean, she threw a pearl away richer than all her tribe.
"'Of all the sad words of tongue or pen The saddest are these, 'It might have been.'
"Harold Carlyle's youthful life was blighted because he could not giveup this woman who was unworthy of him. But at last repentance has come.God forgive her."
