# The Traitor (Dixon, 1907)/Book 2/Chapter 11

TWO days passed without a word of hope for John. On the third morning after his dismissal by Stella he sat pale and listless at breakfast, scarcely tasting his food, while Susie watched his drawn face with keen sympathetic eyes.
An hour later she entered his office.
"You promised to let me help you," she said quietly. "I have come."
He looked at her a moment and wondered why he had never before seen her striking beauty. A tall figure with exquisite sylph like lines, a serene and perfectly moulded face with straight, thoughtful brows shadowing the tenderest gray-blue eyes, and a crown of luxuriant auburn blonde hair.
He caught at once the sincere sympathy of her mood, as he pressed her hand.
"I never saw you so beautiful, Miss Susie, or your face so sweet and restful."
She blushed and looked out the window.
"I can't tell you how I thank you for coming. I think we must have been brother and sister in some other world before this."
​The corners of the girl's lips twitched and she turned her tender eyes full on John's.
"You are in love with Stella?"
"Yes."
"And she has rejected you?"
"No, we have quarrelled and she refuses to see me or read my letters."
"She loves you?"
"I've hoped so, I don't know. She lets me feel it without words."
"We are friends, what can I do?"
"See her and beg her for God's sake to let me call, at least to read my letters. Will you go to-day?"
"Immediately."
"Thank you," he cried, again tenderly pressing her hand. "You must have loved too, Miss Susie."
"Perhaps I have," was the soft reply. "Write your message and I'll take it."
John seated himself and hastily wrote:
My dear Stella:
From the bottom of a heart crushed with anguish I ask your pardon for my lack of faith. Your pride was right. Give me a chance and I will show you what the trust of perfect love means for me. I await from you the words of life or death.
John Graham.
She knocked at the door of the old Graham house with a strange conflict raging in her own breast. She hoped to succeed for the sake of the aching heart of the man she had left, and yet mingled with the fear of failure was the half-mad wish that Stella might reject his plea.
Aunt Julie Ann's face was troubled as she greeted Susie.
"Tell Miss Stella, that I'm very sorry to learn of her illness and I trust she can see me a moment."
"Yassum, I tell her—but I'se feard she ain't well enough."
Aunt Julie Ann returned immediately, smiling.
"She say come right up to her room, Miss Susie."
Susie was shocked to note the change in the beautiful young face lying still and pale against the white pillow.
"I'm sorry to find you so ill!"
"Yes, I suppose I have nerves," she said, smiling wanly. "I didn't know it before. I think some of them must have snapped—but I'm better now. I'll get up this afternoon."
"I've something that will help you, if you will take it."
Stella's brow clouded, and her eyes, wide and cold, assumed a sinister half-mad expression.
​"You have a message from Mr. Graham?"
"How did you guess it?"
"He has tried every other possible way. I wondered if he would stoop to this."
"Stoop!—what do you mean?"
"To use you for such a purpose."
"And why not?"
"You ask that of me?" The great brown eyes pierced Susie's soul.
"Certainly."
"Then it's all right," she said with a light laugh.
"You must receive his message," Susie said. "You've won the heart of the noblest man I have ever known—a great, beautiful, measureless love. Don't turn away from it—you may not know its like again."
The full lips smiled curiously.
"I've brought you a letter from him—you must read it."
Susie pressed the letter into Stella's hand and turned away to the window. She heard the rattle of the paper as it was opened and refolded, and walked back to the bedside. Before she could ask Stella's answer, her eye rested on a letter in Ackerman's handwriting, lying open on the white covering. She started violently but managed to suppress an exclamation. Only that morning she had received herself a letter from the young ​Northerner declaring his love in simple, honest fashion. She couldn't believe her eyes at first, but a second look convinced her of its reality. What puzzled her still more was to observe beside this letter a sheet of paper on which was drawn the diagram of the hall with the minute accuracy of an architect's plan, with Ackerman's notes interlining it.
"What shall I say?" she stammered in confusion.
Stella looked at her with a momentary start, smiled and answered:
"Tell Mr. Graham I have received and read his letter. I'll think it over this evening and reply to-morrow."
"Then I'll go," said Susie, taking her hand. "I'm so glad I saw you."
As she turned through the door her eye again was drawn irresistibly to Ackerman's letter. She returned to John Graham's office stunned by this puzzling discovery.
John was bitterly disappointed in the message she brought. Her long stay had raised in him the highest hope. His own surrender had been so complete and generous, that he could not conceive it possible that she would debate in cold blood for twenty-four hours the question of her answer. It seemed heartless and utterly cruel. He rebelled ​in fierce futile protest. He did not try to conceal the bitterness of his disappointment from Susie, and was too selfishly occupied with his own grief to note the constraint in her manner as she hurried home from his office, even before he had found words in which to thank her for the delicate service she had rendered him.
He sent for Alfred and got word to Aunt Julie Ann that he wished to see her at her cottage after supper. He knew that Alfred had taken advantage of Isaac's long absence to renew his calls on his former love.
When he arrived at nine o'clock Aunt Julie Ann had placed a pot of coffee and a plate of tea-cakes on a little table for him.
"What's de matter, honey?" she asked.
"I'm in great trouble, Aunt Julie Ann."
"Well, Mammy's baby knows who ter come to when he's in trouble!" she said tenderly. She had always called him baby—this bronzed hero of battle fields. His thirty years meant nothing to her except increasing faith in his manhood. Since the day she first took his baby form in her arms she had watched him grow in body and spirit with a brooding mother pride.
"You must talk to Miss Stella for me," he said. "Get close to her Aunt Julie Ann, you're a woman, and tell her all the good things you ​remember about me. You know better than I do—you understand? Make her smile again and get her to see me."
"Now, you set down dar sir, an' drink dat coffee an' tell me what you doin' gwine roun' here mopin' an' pinin' yo' life out all about a gal don't care two straws whedder you'se er livin' er dyin'. I'd be shamed er myself, great big grown man lak you is, what fit froo de war an' everybody say gwine ter be de guvnor some day."
"Can't you get her to see me, Aunt Julie Ann?" he interrupted, earnestly.
"Drink dat coffee, an' den I tell ye!"
"It's too hot for coffee—I'm not hungry—Tell me now."
"Drink it fur Mammy, boy—I wants de grouns. I'm gwine tell ye somefin when I looks in de cup. I seed a vision las' night."
To humour her John drank the coffee in silence.
She took the empty cup, studied its message, and looked into John's face.
"Yes, honey, hit's des lak I see hit las' night, an' I warns ye! I see two purty gals—a fair one and a dark one. Bof lubs ye—but dey's one er slippin up behind yer back wid a shinin' knife in her hand. Her long black hair is hangin' loose on her white shoulders an' all twisted lak snakes. I see her hide de knife in her bosom an' slip her ​arms roun' yo neck. She kiss you an' blindfold ye wid her curly hair an' slip de knife from her bosom an' stab you froo de heart! Mammy's baby! Mammy's baby!"
The black woman's voice sank to a weird whisper full of tears and wild half-savage music as she seized John's hand.
"Don't come to de house no mo,' Marse John!" she pleaded.
"And why not?" he asked sharply.
"Case I look again in de vision an' I see her face plain—an' it wuz hers!"
"Whose?"
"Miss Stella, honey—I warns ye! she doan lub my baby—keep away from her!"
"Rubbish, Aunt Julie Ann; you've been having a nightmare."
"I see it all, des ez plain ez I sees you now—I warns ye!"
"I'll risk it," John laughed. "I'm hoping for good news to-morrow—please say your prayers for me to-night."
Yet in spite of his culture and the inheritance of centuries of knowledge, the voodoo message of his old nurse shrouded his spirit in deeper gloom. He walked home with a new sense of dread in his heart, wondering what answer she would send him to-morrow.