“Ezra will be out of his mind with joy,” he said, by way of rousing her to some interest, as he was settling her as comfortably as he could in the ox-waggon, preparatory to setting out on their return.
“Ezra is dead,” said Olive wearily.
Brother Green stared hard at her. “What crazy fancy is this? Ezra is alive and riding over towards Jacksonville at this moment hunting for you.”
“She told me he was dead,” said Olive, beginning to cry from the revulsion of feeling combined with physical suffering.
“How dared the woman tell such a lie!” exclaimed Brother Green angrily, and then after a moment he added more mildly, “Perhaps it was a mere mistake, she seems to have been kind to you, but negroes are not a truth-telling race.”
“It was not the negro woman, it was Madame,” said Olive in a hushed and awe-struck voice.
“Nonsense, you are raving, Sister Olive,” said he sharply.
“She came to me and told me during my illness.”
“When?”
“I can’t tell. I don’t remember when things happened. I was so ill.”