“And then, the Senator bein’ very tired of her, and havin’ found a newer face that he liked better, turned her out doors, and she went ravin’ wild, they say, run off into the woods, tried to kill herself. They took her to the hospittle, and when she got over her wildness, she would set by the winder all day, pale as a ghost, jest for the chance of seein’ him ridin’ by—for she couldn’t kill her love for him, that was one of the hardest things for her; she couldn’t strangle it out no more’n she could kneel down and pray the sun out of the sky, because she had had a sunstroke. And what did she do to try to forget him and her agony? She took to drinkin’, and fell lower and lower; so low, that nothin’ but God’s mercy can ever reach down to her.”
Says I, “Her face used to be as innocent and sweet as your baby’s face, your little Katy; and look at it now, if you want to see what this man has done. Look at the shame there, where there used to be fearlessness and trust; look at the wretchedness, where there used to be happiness; look at the vicious look, the guilty look, where there was innocence and purity; see how she is shunned and despised by those who used to love and respect her; consider the gulf his hands have dug, deep as eternity, between her and the old life she weeps over but can never return to. If, when she was sweet, and innocent, and trustin’, and fitter for heaven than she ever will be again—when she was first left to his care—he had killed her with his own hands, it wouldn’t have been half the crime he has done now, for then he would only have harmed her body, not her immortal soul.
“And what seems to me the most pitiful thing, sister Minkley, is, he ruined that girl through the best part of her nater—her trust, her affection. Jest as a young deer is led to its death by an old panther mockin’ the voice of its dam, jest so did this old human panther lead this innocent young creeter astray by mockin’ the voice of love,—that holiest of voices—lead her down to destruction through her tenderness, her love for him. And now, after he has stole her happiness, her innocence, her purity, her self-respect, and the respect of others, all her earthly hopes of happiness and her hopes of heaven; after she has lost all for his sake; after he has committed this crime against her, the greatest that man can commit, he crows over her and feels above her; says, ‘you can’t vote, but I can; oh yes, I am all right because I am a man.’ Good land! sister Minkley, how mad it makes me to see such injustice and iniquity.”
But sister Minkley’s mind had got to travelin’ again the ways of the world, and she spoke out in a sort of a preachin’ tone—I s’pose she kinder catched it from Brother Minkley, unbeknown to her:
“Listen to the voice of Solomon concernin’ strange wimmen. ‘She layeth in wait as for a prey. She increaseth the trangressions amongst men. My son rejoice with the wife of thy youth, be thou ravished always with her love. Beware of strange wimmen! Her feet go down to death. Her steps take hold on hell!’”
I was agitated and almost by the side of myself, and I spoke out quick like, before I had time to think how it would sound.
Says I, “That very same strange woman that Solomon was bewarin’ his son about, was innocent once, and in the first on’t some man led her astray, and I shouldn’t wonder a mite if it was old Solomon himself.”
“Good gracious!” says sister Minkley, “Why’e!”
Says I, “I mean well sister Minkley; and there can’t nobody go ahead of me in honorin’ Solomon for what was honorable in him, and admirin’ what was admirable in him. He bilt one of the biggest meetin’ housen’s that ever was bilt, did lots of good, and some of his words are truly like ‘apples of gold in pitchers of silver,’ chuck full of wisdom and goodness. But I must speak the truth if I speak at all sister Minkley, especially where my sect is concerned. As you probable know, private investigation into the wrongs of my sect and tryin’ to right them wrongs, is at present my mission and my theme, (and also promiscous advisin’.) And I must say, that I think Solomon talked to his son a little too much about bewarin’ of strange wimmen, and exhortin’ him to stick to the wife of his youth, when he had ten hundred wimmen by him all the time, and then wasn’t satisfied but started off to git a couple more—upwards of a thousand wimmen. Good gracious! sister Minkley; I should have thought some of ’em would have looked strange to him.”
“Why sister Allen! why’e!”