[He stands a moment looking at the floor, then goes out quietly.
JIM. [Coming up to Mary.] Miss Mary, don't look lak dat. I's gwine do better, I's.... [Mary keeps her head muffled in her apron.] Honey, I's sho' gwine make you a good man.
[Mary pays no attention to him. In his embarrassment he strums his guitar, clears his throat, props his foot up on a chair rung, and begins singing in a low voice.]
Jim. Lyin' in the jail house,
A-peepin' th'ough de bars....
AUNT CANDACE. [Waking from her reverie.] Bring me de li'l black box, gal. Bring me de box! [Mary drops her apron and stares dully at the floor.] Bring me de box! [Half-screaming.] Bring me de box, I say! [Trembling and groaning, she stands up. Mary goes to the chest and brings her the black box. Aunt Candace drops her stick and clutches it.] I's gwine tell you de secret o' dis li'l box. Yo' mammy told me to tell you if de time ever come, an' it's come. She seed trouble an' our mammy befo' us. [She takes a key, tied by a string around her neck, and unlocks the box, pulling out a wrinkled white dress, yellowed with age, of the style of the last generation. Jim sits down, overcome with astonishment, staring at the old woman with open mouth.] Look heah, chile. I's gwine tell you now. Nineteen yeahs ago come dis Christmas dey's a white man gi'n your mammy dis heah, an' dat white man is kin to you, an' he don't live fur off nuther. Gimme dat dress dere on de bed. [Mary gets it and holds it tightly to her breast. Aunt Candace snatches at it, but Mary clings to it.] Gimme dat dress!
MARY. It's mine!
AUNT CANDACE. Gimme! [She jerks the dress from Mary. Hobbling to the fireplace, she lays both of them carefully on the flames. Jim makes a movement as if to save them, but she waves him back with her stick.] Git back, nigger! Git back! Dis night I's gwine wipe out some o' de traces o' sin. [Mary sits in her chair, sobbing. As the dresses burn Aunt Candace comes to her and lays her hand upon her head.] I knows yo' feelin's, chile. But yo's got to smother 'em in. Yo's got to smother 'em in.
CURTAIN