Her disappearance from
the village in which she had been reared caused some excitement; but
it soon reduced itself to a very trifling affair. Indeed, white
trash like this was considered little else than rubbish, not worth
bringing up respectably. And while suspicion pointed to Romescos, as
the person who could account for her mysterious disappearance, such
was the fear of his revenge that no one dared be the accuser.
Quietly matters rested, poor virtue was mean merchandise, had its
value, could be bought and sold-could be turned to various uses,
except enlisting the sympathies of those who study it as a market
commodity. A few days passed and all was hushed; no one enquired
about the poor orphan, Martha Johnson. In the hands of her creole
owner, who held her as a price for licentious purposes, she
associated with gentlemen of polite manners-of wealth and position.
Even this, though profane, had advantages, which she employed for
the best of purposes; she learned to read and to write,--to
assimilate her feelings with those of a higher class. Society had
degraded her, she had not degraded herself. One night, as the
promiscuous company gathered into the drawing-room, she recognised a
young man from her native village; the familiar face inspired her
with joy, her heart leaped with gladness; he had befriended her poor
mother-she knew he had kind feelings, and would be her friend once
her story was told. The moments passed painfully; she watched him
restlessly through the dance,--sat at his side.
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