Chapter VII: Part 7

Beyond her I saw Herman Vandala, and, sweeping the papers together in my hands, rose up. I held them out to him, trembling, burning with shame, yet determined to right that old wrong at any cost.

"Proofs of your uncle's innocence that I have just discovered--I--"

He took them, and, with scarcely a glance, threw them over my shoulder into the fire. They caught like tinder, and for a moment the small room was brilliantly illuminated, then only a charred, blackened heap of ashes remained to tell us of that old romance. I covered my face with my hands, but he drew them away.

"We will not intermeddle with the past. Restitution cannot be made in this world, unless--is it generous to say?--unless you will be my wife. Let this Herman Vandala have the happiness his kinsman was cheated out of. I love you. I have been loving you faithfully for years. Your mother knows and consents. Come to me, Phemie, dearest, come."

My mother smiled tearfully upon us; but Uncle Peter stared at the charred remnants of the secret he had kept so long, muttering:

"Bress de Lawd, dey's gone! Dey weighed heavy on my soul--heavy. I knowed sumfin 'ud happen when I seed Miss Euphemy t'other night steppin' soft on de stairs, en in dat laylock gown; yes, dat same laylock gown."