“Wha you do? I tole you arready wha you do. You gib to massr—you enemy and myen.”
“But what is it?”
“Why you ask daat? I tole you it am de obeah-’pell.”
“Oh, Chakra! is it poison?”
“No, you fool—ef ’twa pizen, den it kill de buckra right off. It no kill ’im. It only make um sick, an’ den, preehap, it make ’im die long time atterward. Daz no pizen! You ’fuse gib ’im?”
The woman appeared to hesitate, as if some sparks of a better nature were rising within her soul. If there were such sparks, only for a short while were they allowed to shine.
“You ’fuse gib ’im?” repeated the tempter, hastening to extinguish them. “If you ’fuse, I no put de lub-spell on Cubina. Mor’n dat—I set de obeah fo’ you—you youseff!”
“Oh, no—no, Chakra!” cried she, cowering before the Coromantee; “I not refuse—I give it—anything you command me.”
“Dere, now—das sensible ob you, Cynthy. Now I gib you de instrukshin how fo’ ’minister de ’pell. Lissen, an’ ’member ebbery ting I go ’peak you.”
As the hideous sorcerer said this, he sat down in front of his neophyte—fixing his eyes upon hers, as if the better to impress his words upon her memory.