"You have visions of such things, eh?"
"Yes, but I came a generation late, that's all, and I've got that other woman's soul. I'm not a half-breed—I'm not me at all. I'm Merridy—Merridy! That's who I am."
Her face was turned away from him, so that she did not notice the frightful effect her words had upon Stark.
"Where did you get—that name?" His voice was pitched in a different key now. Then, after a moment, he added, "From the story I told you at the mine that night, I suppose?"
"Oh no," she answered. "I've always had it, though they call me Necia. Merridy was my father's mother. I guess I'm like her in many ways, for I often imagine she is a part of me, that her spirit is mine. It's the only way I can account for the sights I see."
"Your father's mother?" he said, mechanically. "That's queer." He seemed to be trying to shake himself free from something. "It's heredity, I suppose. You have visions of a white woman, a woman named Merridy, eh?" Suddenly his manner changed, and he spoke so roughly that she looked at him in vague alarm.
"How do you know? How do you know she was his mother?"
"He told me so—"
Stark snarled. "He lied!"
"I can show you her wedding-ring—I've always worn it." She fumbled for the chain about her neck, but it eluded her trembling fingers. "It has her name in it—'From Dan to Merridy.'"