"How can poisonous things be so beautiful?" she said, with a sigh. "Who would believe that one of these glowing drops could take a human life?"
"You know it to be deadly, then?" questioned the old man.
His voice was so hoarse that Barbara looked him earnestly in the face.
"Yes," she answered, thoughtfully, "I know all its good and all its evil qualities. Like many other things in life it can both cure and kill."
As she spoke, Barbara cut away the leaves and the red cone with her poignard, dropping the root into her basket. Then she put away the stiletto somewhere in the folds of her dress, and dashed off the soil that clung to her white hands.
"You would speak with me, I think?" she said, a little anxiously.
"She knows that already," thought the old man, feeding his suspicions with every word Barbara Stafford uttered: but he only said:
"Lady, what have you in common with the young man who sat with you a few minutes ago, under the oak yonder?"
Barbara smiled. These words were a relief to her. She had expected something more important by his strange manner.
"Oh, Mr. Lovel—he joined me on the shore where I went in search of a shrub I wanted for old Tituba who has a bad cough. I hope his wish to join me has not encroached on pleasanter duties."