“Nonsense,” said Nyoda brightly. “You’ll be up and around in the morning. The doctor that gave you this medicine said you’d have these spells once in a while, but the heart drops would always bring you round all right.”
“I’se a-goin’ dis time,” he repeated. “I’se had a token. Dreamed about runnin’ water las’ night, an’ dat’s a sure sign. Ain’t no surer sign den dat anywhere, Mis’ ’Lizbeth.”
“Nonsense,” said Nyoda again. “You shouldn’t believe in signs. Tell us what happened to-night and that’ll make you feel better.”
“Mis’ ’Lizbeth,” said the old man solemnly, “I’se goin’ ter tell de whole thing. I wasn’t goin’ ter say nothin’ a-tall, but gon’ ter die, like I am, I’se skeered ter go an’ not tell you-all.”
He took a sip from the tumbler at his hand and cleared his throat.
“Mis’ ’Lizbeth,” he began, “dat weren’t no burglar dat git inter de house dat night. You jus’ lissen till I tell you de whole bizness. Dat day you-all find dem footprints on de stairs I mos’ had a fit, ’case I knowed somebody’d got in th’u de secrut passidge.”
“But you said you didn’t know anything about a secret passage,” said Nyoda, in surprise.
“Mis’ ’Lizbeth,” said Hercules deprecatingly, evidently urged on to open confession by the knowledge that death had him by the coat tail, “I said dat, but it weren’t true. Ole Marse Jasper, he say once if I ever tell about dat secrut passidge de debbel’d come in th’u it an’ carry me off, an’ I’se bin skeered even ter say secrut passidge.
“Dere weren’t nobody livin’ dat knew about dat secrut passidge, an’ when I sees dem footprints I reckons it mus’ be de debbel himself. But yestidday I sees a man hangin’ roun’ behin’ de barn, an’ I axs him what he wants, an’ he sticks up two fingers an’ makes a sign dat I uster know yeahs ago. I looks at de man agin, an’ I says, ‘Foh de Lawd, am de dead come ter life?’ ’Case it’s Marse Jasper’s ole frien’, Tad Phillips.”
A sharp exclamation of astonishment went around the circle of listeners.