"She has been quiet for some time. But you have been with her; you should know."
"No," the woman answered, "I have been acting for Lillias while you two have gaped and talked and risked her future with every hour. Something has been done."
"Yes?" The man of the house found his heart beating fast, but he put his question quietly, deliberately. "You have had many plans. Which have you used?"
"I've hidden it; hidden her shame. It can never cross her path in this world."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I've not committed murder." She clenched her trembling hands together. "Not that it mightn't be the best thing. But it's buried, buried. You will never see it again."
"Buried?"
"Buried from the world into which it was born. Hidden in the sure way that one in the South can hide. I did it myself," she went on in a whisper. "I put some money in its dress and carried it in my arms that no one might know. I went through the alleys over the slippery road. The blacks' cabin was empty, and I hid it on the bed."
"God! A white child! And you did this thing!"
The man of the house for a moment faced his wife as judge.