muttered, bitterly.

He dragged her closer to the women, through the darkness and foul
smell.

"Look in their faces," he whispered. "There is not one of them
that is not a living lie. Can they help it? Think of the
centuries of serfdom and superstition through which their blood
has crawled. Come closer,--here."

In the corner slept a heap of half-clothed blacks. Going on the
underground railroad to Canada. Stolid, sensual wretches, with
here and there a broad, melancholy brow, and desperate jaws. One
little pickaninny rubbed its sleepy eyes, and laughed at them.

"So much flesh and blood out of the market, unweighed!"

Margret took up the child, kissing its brown face. Knowles
looked at her.

"Would you touch her? I forgot you were born down South. Put it
down, and come on."

They went out of the door. Margret stopped, looking back.

"Did I call it a bit of hell? It 's only a glimpse of the
under-life of America,--God help us!--where all men are born free
and equal."

The air in the passage grew fouler. She leaned back faint and