"Your father has just told me that I am a negress—my mother is an octoroon!"
The boy flinched involuntarily, stared in silence an instant, and his form suddenly stiffened:
"I don't believe a word of it! My father has been deceived. It's preposterous!"
Helen drew closer as if for shelter and clung to his hand wistfully:
"It does seem a horrible joke, doesn't it? I can't realize it. But it's true. The major gave me his solemn word in tears of sympathy. He knew both my father and mother. I am a negress!"
The boy's arm unconsciously shrank the slightest bit from her touch while he stared at her with wildly dilated eyes and spoke in a hoarse whisper:
"It's impossible! It's impossible—I tell you!"
He attempted to lift his hand to place it on his throbbing forehead. Helen clung to him in frantic grief and terror:
"Please, please—don't shrink from me! Have pity on me! If you feel that way, for God's sake don't let me see it—don't let me know it—I—I—can't endure it! I can't——"
The tense figure collapsed in his arms and the brown head sank on his breast with a sob of despair. The boy pressed her to his heart and held her close. He felt her body shiver as he pushed the tangled ringlets back from her high, fair forehead and felt the cold beads of perspiration. The serenaders at the gate were singing again—a negro folk-song. The absurd childish words which he knew so well rang through the house, a chanting mockery.