whistled a small, black stable lad and bade him bring our mounts to
the porch, then wandered at random down the hallway, following my nose,
which scented the kitchen, until I came to a closed door.

Behind that door meats were cooking--I could take my oath o' that--so I
opened the door and poked my nose in.

"Tulip," I said, "come here!"

An ample black woman, aproned and turbaned, looked at me through the
steam of many kettles, turned and cuffed the lad at the spit, dealt a
few buffets among the scullions, and waddled up to me, bobbing and
curtsying.

"Aunt Tulip," I said, gravely, "are you voodoo?"

"Folks says ah is, Mars' Ormon'," she said, in her soft Georgia accent.

"Oh, they do, do they? Look at me, Aunt Tulip. What do my eyes tell you
of me?"

Her dark eyes, fixed on mine, seemed to change, and I thought little
glimmers of pure gold tinted the iris, like those marvellous restless
tints in a gorgeous bubble. Certainly her eyes were strange, almost
compelling, for I felt a faint rigidity in my cheeks and my eyes
returned directly to hers as at an unspoken command.

"Can you read me, aunty?" I asked, trying to speak easily, yet feeling
the stiffness growing in my cheeks.

"Ah sho' can," she said, stepping nearer.

"What is my fate, then?"

"Ah 'spec' yo' gwine fine yo'se'f in love," she said, softly; and I
strove to smile with ever-stiffening lips.

A little numbness that tingled spread over me; it was pleasant; I did
not care to withdraw my eyes. Presently the tightness in my face
relaxed, I moved my lips, smiling vaguely.

"In love," I repeated.

"Yaas, Mars' Ormon'."

"When?"

"'Fore yo' know h'it, honey."

"Tell me more."

"'Spec' ah done tole yo' too much, honey." She looked at me steadily.
"Pore Mars' Gawge," she murmured, "'spec' ah done tole yo' too much. But
it sho' am a-comin', honey, an' h'it gwine come pow'ful sudden, an' h'it
gwine mek yo' pow'ful sick."

"Am I to win her?"

"No, honey."

"Is there no hope, Aunt Tulip?"

She hesitated as though at fault; I felt the tenseness in my face once
more; then, for one instant, I lost track of time; for presently I found
myself standing in the hallway watching Sir Lupus through the open door
of the gun-room, and Sir Lupus was very angry.

"Dammy!" he roared, "am I to eat my plate? Cato! I want my porridge!"

Confused, I stood blinking at him, and he at table, bibbed like a babe,
mad as a hornet, hammering on the cloth with a g