“If you are so frightened as that, what did you let her do it for? You are five times as strong as she is.”
“I coulden tech her, marse—I coulden! Says she, ‘A-follerin’ an’ spyin’, Porley? Take dat rope an’ come wid me. ’ So I come. She’s cunjud me, marse; I is done fer.”
“Nonsense! Where’s the nurse?”
“I doan know—I doan know. Says she, ‘We’ll take a walk, Miss Mile.’ An’ off dey went, ’way ober dat way. Reckon Miss Mile’s dead!”
“No more dead than you are. Go back to the camp and un-cunjer yourself; there’s a dollar to help it along.”
He went off in the direction she had indicated. After a while he began to call at intervals; there was a distant answer, and he called again. And then gradually, nearer and nearer, came the self-respecting voice of Mary Ann Mile. Each time he shouted, “Hello there!” her answer was, “Yes, sir; present-lée,” in a very well-educated tone.
“What is this, Mrs. Mile?”
“You may well ask, sir. Such an incident has never happened to me before. Mrs. Morrison remarked that she should enjoy a walk, and I therefore went with her; after we had proceeded some distance, suddenly she darted off. I followed her, and kept her in sight for a while, or rather she kept me in sight; then she disappeared, and I perceived not only that I had lost her, but that I myself was lost. It is a curious thing, sir,—the cleverness of people whose minds are disordered!”
“Her mind is no longer disordered, Mrs. Mile; she has got back her senses.”
“Do you consider this an instance of it?” asked the nurse, doubtfully.