"No," said the negress. But while her tongue uttered the denial, her eyes rolled uneasily around the lawn, as though dreading some invisible presence. "No, missy. Dido a great one, you know. She no 'fraid ob dat doctor; but him big man, missy; you marry him."

"No, no, no! I would rather die. I love Maurice."

"You nebber marry him, missy. Nebber, nebber!"

"How do you know?"

"I make de spell. I know. De spell say dat doctor, he marry you!"

This time Isabella burst out into a girlish laugh of genuine amusement.

"The spell seems to know more about me than I do myself," said she, contemptuously. "I don't believe in your spells, Dido. I know from Maurice that they are nonsense!"

"You take care, missy! Obi! dat not nonsense!" said Dido, in a threatening tone.

"What does Dr. Etwald say about it?"

Dido looked sullenly at the fire.

"I no hear him say anytink about Obi," she replied; "but de spell; it say you marry dat man and no de yaller-ha'r."

"Well, Dido, we shall see. And now--"

She never finished what she was about to say, for at that moment Dido stretched out one arm, and uttered one name, "Batt'sea!"

Across the lawn there crept a wizen, gray-haired little man, with a cringing manner. He was white, but darkish in the skin, and there was something negroid about his face. This dwarfish little creature was a tramp, who had become a pensioner of Isabella's. He had attached himself to her like some faithful dog, and rarely failed to present himself at least once a day.

What his real name was nobody knew, but he said that he was called Battersea, after the parish in which he had been reared as a foundling.

Battersea was cringing, dirty, and altogether an unpleasant object to look upon; but Isabella was sorry for the creature, and aided him with food and a trifle of money. It may be here mentioned that Battersea, although he knew nothing of Obi, was terribly afraid of Dido. Perhaps some instinct in the negro blood--for he undoubtedly had something African in his 

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