“What has this American done that you hate him so?”
“I was not speaking of him just now,” replied Ajeeb.
“I care not what may happen to me, I would not have harm come to him,” exclaimed the dark-skinned beauty.
“Ah!” said the visitor; “the curse of Jobu be upon you!”
Zulima shuddered. She had left Africa behind her forever, she hoped, but not so the superstitious belief in which she was raised. She believed the false god Jobu as great as his devotees claimed.
None had been more devout in their worship of the misshapen wooden idol than Zulima herself. She was quite certain that Jobu would one day make the Abyssinians rulers of the whole of Africa.
Stolburst had endeavored to teach the dark beauty Christianity. She had listened patiently to him, but he found himself unable to convince his charge that there could be a greater god than her own Jobu.
“Why should I be cursed?” Zulima asked, after a pause.
“You are a princess.”
“True.”