"Lonesome? 'Deed he didn't, honey; he was in fust rate spirits all the time."
"Ah!" said Sibyl, a shadow falling over her face; "he spent his time in fishing and shooting, I suppose, and snaring birds?"
"Snarin' birds? Yes; an' caught one, too," said Aunt Moll, in a tone that spoke volumes.
"Caught one! What do you mean, Aunt Moll? I don't understand," said Sibyl, anxiously.
"Miss Sibyl, don't listen to her. She's allers got some nonsense to tell," interrupted Lem, casting an angry and warning glance toward his mother.
But now that the opportunity she had so long waited for had come, the old woman's tongue was not to be stopped.
"It's all fur yer good, child, 'deed it is; an' I 'siders it my duty to warn you, honey, dat Massa Drummond ain't to be 'pended on. Dar!"
"Aunt Moll, what do you mean? Speak, and tell me what you are hinting at. What has Mr. Drummond done?" asked Sibyl, growing very pale.
"Well, chile, 'stead o' stayin' here, and thinking ob you, as he'd orter, he's been prowlin', all hours o' de night, round de island, wid dat 'ar Miss Chrissy—making lub to her, I'll be bound."
"What?" cried Sibyl, in a tone that made the old woman leap to her feet, as she sprang forward, and caught her by the arm. "Dare you insinuate such a thing? I tell you he could not, and he would not—he dare not prove false to me!"