Carolina’s face showed her horror. He felt soothed by her understanding and went on, in a low, pained voice.
"It ruined my life. And it has ruined Winfield’s."
"And the girl," said Carolina, in a tense voice, "Flower!"
"It has ruined hers. They are the most unhappy couple I ever saw. And more so since the baby came."
"It will all come right," declared Carolina, straightening herself. "You will discover that Flower is entitled to a name, and that your worst fears are incorrect."
"My worst fears--" began Moultrie. Then he stopped abruptly. "I cannot explain them to you," he said.
"I know what you mean. But remember that I, too, have seen Flower. I saw her that day, and I say to you that not one drop of negro blood flows in that girl’s veins, and your brother’s child is safe."
"You think so?" he exclaimed, moved by the earnestness of her voice and the calm conviction of her manner. Then he shook his head.
"I can understand," she said, "the terrible strain you are all under, but, believe me, it will all come out right."
"They think the baby is bewitched,--that he has been voodooed,--if you know what that means. The negroes declare that an evil spirit can be seen moving around whatever spot the child inhabits."
"What utter nonsense!" cried Carolina. "I hope your brother has too much sense, too much religion, to encourage such a belief."
"My poor brother believes that the devil has marked him for his own."
"Does your brother believe in a devil?" asked Carolina.
"Why, don’t you?" asked Moultrie, in a shocked tone.
"I was not aware that any enlightened person did nowadays," answered Carolina, with a lift of her chin.
The movement irritated her companion far more than her words, just as Carolina had intended it to.
There are some subjects which cannot be argued. They must be obliterated by a contempt which bites into one’s self-love.
The mare saved the situation by a soft whinny. She turned her head expectantly, and, following her eyes, the riders saw the tall, lithe figure of a man making his way toward them through the underbrush. Moultrie gave vent to an exclamation.
"Oh, only a bad negro who haunts places where he has no business to. He is a perfect wonder with horses, and broke in that mare you are riding, who will follow him anywhere without a bridle, pushing her nose under his arm like any dog who thrusts a muzzle into your palm. He is always up to something. From present appearances, I should say that he had probably been bleeding your trees."