“Yes—yes.”
“Den he ’peak de troof. Nuffin mor’n dat. You take heed—I ’vise you, as you friend. You go troo wif de ’pell now ’im ’gun, else you life not worth so much trash ob de sugar-cane. A say no more. Ebbery night, in um fuss glass, de full ob de crab-claw, up to de mark. Now, gal, come ’lon’.”
The last command was the more readily obeyed since Cynthia was but too glad to get away from a place whose terrors had so severely tested her courage.
Taking up the basket—in which the bottle containing the dangerous decoction had been already placed—she glided out of the hut, and once more followed the Coromantee to his canoe.
Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Eight.
Midnight Wanderers.
Once more under the ceiba, that gigantic trysting tree, stood the Maroon and his mistress. Not, as before, in the bright noonday sun, but near the mid-hour of the night. The Foolah had dared the dangers of the forest to meet her beloved Cubina.
And there were dangers in that forest, more to be dreaded than fierce beasts or ravenous reptiles—more to be dreaded than the tusks of the wild boar, or the teeth of the scaly alligator. There were monsters in human form far more fearful to be encountered; and at that moment not very distant from the spot where the lovers had made their rendezvous.