But it was not alone the pathos of the story, deep and tragic as that was, that kept her night after night with wide-open eyes staring into the darkness.
A formless terror was creeping over her. As she thought of the author of the black woman's miseries and his relationship to her child, it seemed almost as if Philip were in the path of some onrushing tide of evil propensities—inheritable vices that might sweep him away from her into an abyss from which she could never rescue him. Of course the wolf blood of the De Jarnettes was a thing to smile at. That was negro superstition. But the sinister fact remained that the man who had sold Mammy Cely's child was the father of the one who was trying to get her child. If the father had been thus cruel what could be expected of the son he had reared, and to whom he had given his blood with the curse upon it? There seemed something awful to her in the thought of that curse. Where had it come from? From generations of dumb suffering mothers who could do nothing but call down maledictions? Was there really such a thing as invoking a curse that could be visited from father to son? She sat up in bed to get her breath. It did seem as if she would suffocate in this darkness.
She got up and felt for the matches, reaching frantically for them, her hands shaking, her teeth chattering. As the gas flared up she felt the relief that comes from the chasing away of shadows, and smiled a little at her own folly.
She turned the gas low ... what was that noise? It sounded like someone at the front door. Judge Kirtley had said they would never try to take Philip by force, but—that certainly was somebody on the stairs. She listened with every nerve tense. Not a sound but the stentorious breathing of Mammy Cely in the room beyond. She had slept there ever since the baby came.... Margaret fell back on the pillow with relaxed nerves.... If only the throbbing in her head would stop! She tossed from side to side with a great physical longing for the sleep that would not come.
The weeks that followed were hard ones for Margaret. She was worn to a shadow by her anxieties and the law's delay. At the proper time Judge Kirtley had gone before the Court and given notice that Mrs. De Jarnette would contest the will on the ground that the testator was of unsound mind.
It is not the purpose of this narrative to give the proceedings of that trial before the Probate Court. It is only the result that concerns us. It may be said in passing, however, that in no particular did Mr. De Jarnette deviate from the policy he had adopted at the first of simply falling back upon the law and the right of the testator to make such a will. "Bull dog tactics," Judge Kirtley called them to a brother lawyer. Not a word as to the unfitness of the mother to rear the child, not a breath affecting her character. The burden of proof was with the contestants,—and the contestants unfortunately were short of proof. Judge Kirtley himself did not believe Victor De Jarnette to have been of unsound mind.
Mr. Jarvis testified with great reluctance that while Victor De Jarnette was, at the time when the codicil was added, in a state of considerable excitement and strong feeling, he saw nothing about him which would lead him (Mr. Jarvis) to consider him of unsound mind. The testimony of the two witnesses to the will was to the same effect.
Men who had had business dealings with him a day, a week, a month previously were called to the witness-stand and with one voice upheld his sanity. More than one of them cast a pitying glance at the girlish, black-robed figure back of Judge Kirtley, and gave this testimony only because he was under oath.
Servants from his own household were examined as to whether they had observed anything suspicious in their employer's manner or actions,—anything that would incline them to the belief that he was of unsound mind. Not one circumstance pointing toward it was developed.