"Ask her to explain that, my dear lad."
"I did so, and she referred me to you."
Major Jen wriggled uneasily in his seat, and carefully knocked the ash off his cigar. He disliked telling what appeared to him to be a silly story, but as such story bore strongly upon the present position of things, and as Maurice was impatiently waiting to be enlightened, Jen was forced to put his scruples on one side and speak out.
"If what I relate appears impossible don't blame me," he said, abruptly, "and I feel certain that you will laugh when I tell you about Voodoo!"
"That word again!" cried Maurice, in a puzzled voice. "Dido used it when we met Etwald; she repeated it to me before I left. Voodoo! Voodoo! What does it mean, Uncle Jen?"
"African witchcraft! Obi! Fetish worship! The adoration of the bad spirit who catches mortals by the hair. Any one of these things explains the meaning of the term."
"H'm!" said Maurice. "It is devil-worship, pure and simple."
"Yes, and Mrs. Dallas knows more about it than is good for her."
"But you don't mean to say that she believes in it!"
"My boy," Jen laid his hand upon the arm of the young man, "when you reach my age you will find that there is no limit to the credulity and folly of human beings. When I was stationed in the Barbadoes many years ago I met Mrs. Dallas."