Again the old woman's eyes were lifted and she peered into the depths of the fire.
"I seed Zalie las' night! She come with hit."
"With what?" Sister Angela had that peculiar pricking sensation of the skin caused by tense nerves.
"With hit. Her young-un! That's what larnin' means to us-all. Hit! After that, nothin' counts one way or 'other. Zalie spoke in her vision—clear like she was in the flesh. She don made me understand that I mus' give hit a chance; break the curse—there is only one way!"
"What way, Becky?" Angela was whispering as if she and the old woman near her were conspiring together.
"Hit mus' go where no one knows—no one ever can know. It's the knowin' that damns us-all. Folks knowin' an' expectin'—an' helpin' the curse. Hit's got to start fresh an' no one knowin'."
Becky's voice was sepulchral.
"You mean," Angela asked, "that if Zalie comes back with a child that you want me to take it, find a home for it—where no one will ever know?"
"You-all don promised to help me," Becky pleaded, for she caught the doubting tone in Angela's voice; "you-all ain't goin' back on that, air yo'?"
The burning eyes fell upon the cross at Angela's side.