Solomon gave a groan.
“You know her. You—saw her at Loch—Lomond.”
“What, your wife! O, I understand;” and a light began to dawn upon Bart.
Solomon shuddered. The remembrance was too much for him.
“Dis yer’s de fust time I’ve felt real safe for ebber so long; and here I am real safe. She can’t git at me here no how. She can’t imagine where I am no how.”
“Pooh! nonsense, Solomon! Haven’t you been safe enough ever since you left St. John?”
“No, sah! Safe! Why, dar’s not a moment ob de day dat I don’t fancy dat ar woman’s arter me—on my back. I knows it. Tell you what, she’s a comin to fetch me. I knows it. I feel it in my bones, and dat ar’s a feelin dat’s wuss dan de rheumatics. ’Tis so!”
“But what a rdiculous fancy!” said Bart. “Do you really mean to say that you believe she will come after you?”
“Do so. No doubt bout dat ar, Mas’r Bart. She’s a comin jest as shuah’s you’re born. An I habn’t felt real safe’ till now. Here I’m all right.”
“But suppose she does come?”