I.
The Moonlight Visitor.
The evening air stole gently into a quiet room in a southern island, more than sixty years ago.
There were no casements in the wide windows; the heavy shutters were thrown back, and the moonlight poured, in long, unbroken streams, across the polished, un-carpeted floor.
Within the large pleasant room, two children were sleeping in their curtained beds, like birds in pretty cages.
Suddenly there was a cautious tread in the hall, and then a strange figure stood silently in the moonlight. Without candle, or taper, might have been plainly seen the short, strongly-built woman, whose black face and gay turban formed a striking contrast to the fair children in their loose, white night-dresses.
Who was that dark intruder, and what was her secret errand, in that quiet room?
It was Daph, black Daph, and when you have heard more about her, you can better judge whether she came as a friend, or an enemy, to the sleeping children of her master.
The large mirror, bright in the moonlight, seemed to have an irresistible attraction for the negro, and the sight of her black face fully reflected there, made her show her white teeth in a grin of decided approval. The pleased expression, however, disappeared almost instantly, as she said impatiently, “Foolish darky, spendin dese precious time, looking at your own ugly face!”
At this whispered exclamation, the children stirred uneasily. “If I mus, I mus!” said Daph, resolutely, as she drew from her pocket a box, containing two small pills. With the pills in her hand she approached the bedside of the little girl, who was now half sitting up, and looking at Daph, with the bewildered expression of one suddenly aroused from sleep.