Wynnette clasped her sister close to her bosom, and cried for company.
Presently Odalite raised her head, wiped the traces of tears from her face, and taking the hands of her sister, looked earnestly up to her, and speaking more solemnly than she had ever done before, said:
“Father and mother have consented that I may. Wynnette, if you love me, never, never speak to me of this again.”
The little girl kissed her sister in perfect silence, saying to herself:
“He has bewitched her—there’s where it is! He must have learned magic when he was in India, and he has bewitched her!”
A joyful commotion in the hall below, a chorus of voices in glad surprise, and of dogs in eager welcoming barks, attracted the instant attention of all who were present in the room.
“Oh, mother! what is it? What is it? Has—has——Oh, mother!” exclaimed Odalite, half rising, then sinking back and grasping the arm of her chair, pale as death.
But before Mrs. Force could go to her daughter, the door was unceremoniously burst open by an excited negro girl, who, with her eyes starting, and her hair bristling, not with horror, but with delight, burst into the room, exclaiming:
“Marse Le is come home! Marse Le is come home! ’Deed he is, missus! ’Deed he is, Miss Odalite!”
And in another instant the young sailor rushed into the room with a joyous bound, almost whooping: