“I never heard of one.”
“Think, Genta I was she not called Anegay?”
Genta’s shake of the head was decided enough to settle any question, but Belasez fancied she caught a momentary flash in her eyes which was by no means a negation.
But Belasez did not hear a few sentences that were uttered before Genta left the house.
“Aunt Licorice, what has Belasez got in her head?”
“Nay, what has she, Genta?”
“I am sure some one has been telling her something. She has asked me to-night if she had not once a sister, and if her name were not Anegay.”
The exclamation in reply was more forcible than elegant. But that night, as Belasez lay in bed, through half-closed eyes she saw her mother enter and hold the lantern to her face. I am sorry to add that Belasez instantly counterfeited profound sleep; and Licorice retired with apparent satisfaction.
“Husband!” she heard her mother say, a few minutes later, “either some son of a Philistine has told that child something, or she has overheard our words.”
“What makes thee think so?” Abraham’s tone was one of great distress, if not terror.