"What utter nonsense!" cried Carolina. "I hope your brother has too much sense, too much religion, to encourage such a belief."
"My poor brother believes that the devil has marked him for his own."
"Does your brother believe in a devil?" asked Carolina.
"Why, don't you?" asked Moultrie, in a shocked tone.
"I was not aware that any enlightened person did nowadays," answered Carolina, with a lift of her chin.
The movement irritated her companion far more than her words, just as Carolina had intended it to.
There are some subjects which cannot be argued. They must be obliterated by a contempt which bites into one's self-love.
The mare saved the situation by a soft whinny. She turned her head expectantly, and, following her eyes, the riders saw the tall, lithe figure of a man making his way toward them through the underbrush. Moultrie gave vent to an exclamation.
"What is it?" asked Carolina.
"Oh, only a bad negro who haunts places where he has no business to. He is a perfect wonder with horses, and broke in that mare you are riding, who will follow him anywhere without a bridle, pushing her nose under his arm like any dog who thrusts a muzzle into your palm. He is always up to something. From present appearances, I should say that he had probably been bleeding your trees."