MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
mountings, an' how hard we hate. Wal, I never hated no worse than I do now; an' if half I'm feared of is true, thar's sure goin' ter be hell 'round yere whin I do turn loose."
She stood staring at him with white face and parted lips, apparently only partially understanding the man's broken speech, yet, with womanly instinct, grasping the one essential fact—the strange disappearance of his wife and children.
"Mr. Daniels," she broke in impulsively. "I have been taught to fear you, but I am not afraid now," and she looked quickly from his face into mine. "You seem to think that we—that Jem Donald—has burnt your cabin, driven your family out; but it is not so; I know it is not so. I—I am just as sorry as any one to hear this; indeed I am, for I have met your wife; she—she was kind to me once, years ago."
The man choked, much of the sternness gone from his haggard face.
"Yes, she told me 'bout thet, an' it was because you'd know her thet I kim yere ter question yer. Ther Leftenant says you saw ther woman who has been murderin' in this house. If yer did, I want yer ter tell me ther truth—was it Maria?"
The girl's hands went to her throat, as if the unexpected inquiry had taken her breath, and for the moment she remained mute, her eyes on his, her slender form trembling. Then she conquered herself with an effort.
"Yes, I—I saw the face!" she answered, shuddering; the very memory seemed painful; "an awful face, scarcely
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