"I make de spell. I know. De spell say dat doctor, he marry you!"
This time Isabella burst out into a girlish laugh of genuine amusement.
"The spell seems to know more about me than I do myself," said she, contemptuously. "I don't believe in your spells, Dido. I know from Maurice that they are nonsense!"
"You take care, missy! Obi! dat not nonsense!" said Dido, in a threatening tone.
"What does Dr. Etwald say about it?"
Dido looked sullenly at the fire.
"I no hear him say anytink about Obi," she replied; "but de spell; it say you marry dat man and no de yaller-ha'r."
"Well, Dido, we shall see. And now--"
She never finished what she was about to say, for at that moment Dido stretched out one arm, and uttered one name, "Batt'sea!"
Across the lawn there crept a wizen, gray-haired little man, with a cringing manner. He was white, but darkish in the skin, and there was something negroid about his face. This dwarfish little creature was a tramp, who had become a pensioner of Isabella's. He had attached himself to her like some faithful dog, and rarely failed to present himself at least once a day.