“Ah, surely! How could she help do that?”
The interrogatory betrayed the speaker’s belief that the Maroon captain was irresistible.
“Wa, then—wha you want me do, gal? You want rebbenge on Cubina, ’cause he hab ’trayed you? You want me put de death-pell on him?”
“Oh! no—no! not that, Chakra, for the love of Heaven!—not that!”
“Den you want de lub-spell?”
“Ah! if he could be make love me ’gain—he did once. That is—I thought he did. Is it possible, good Chakra, to make him love me again?”
“All ting possble to old Chakra; an’ to prove dat,” continued he, with a determined air, “he promise put de lub-spell on Cubina.”
“Oh, thanks! thanks!” cried the woman, stretching out her hands, and speaking in a tone of fervent gratitude. “What can I do for you, Chakra? I bring you everything you ask. I steal rum—I steal wine—I come every night with something you like eat.”
“Wa, Cynthy—dat berry kind ob you; but you muss do more dan all dat.”
“Anything you ask me—what more?”