"Not half so venomous ugly as dem I applies 'em to, begging your pardon, ole marse," said the woman, with a positive nod of her head.
"Where did you leave your lady?" inquired the judge, who had been almost dying of anxiety to ask this question, but had refrained on account of Katie's excessive agitation. "Where did you leave your mistress?"
"Le'me see. Where did I leave her ag'in? Oh! I 'members exactly now. 'Deed I got good reason to 'member dat night, if I never 'members anoder day nor night of my life."
"Tell us, Katie," said Ishmael.
"Well, den, I done lef her on de grand staircase o' de castle a- goin' down to dinner. And she looked beautiful in her rosy more antics, just like a lamb dressed for the sacrifice, 'cordin' to de Scriptur'. And she unsuspicionin' anything and me dyin' to tell her, on'y she wouldn't stop to listen to me."
"To tell her what, Katie?"
"Why, laws, honey, 'bout de debblish plot as my lordship and dat whited saltpeter and de shamwalley plotted ag'in her—ag'in her, my own dear babyship—ladyship, I meant to say."
"There was a plot, then?" inquired Ishmael, with forced calmness, for he wished quietly to draw out the woman's story without agitating and confusing her. "There was a plot then?"
"Oh, wasn't dere? De blackest plot ag'in my ladyship as ebber de old debbil hisse'f could o' put in anybody's head. And I heard it all! And I heard it all good, too."
"What was it, Katie? Can you tell us?" inquired Ishmael, while the judge bent his pale, careworn, and anxious face nearer the speaker.