Waterbury evening Democrat., 1894-04-25
CHAPTER VI

all came back to him now with double
 force. Through the earliest morning he
 had ridden fast, picking his way along
 bridle paths through overgrown neg
 lected hyways to the conjure woman s
 cabin Why he could not have put in
 words had life depended on it. For days
 the feeling had been growing upon him | -vague, intuitive, expectant. Jincey,
 once his fathers slave, years older than
 himself, was living link with that
 fated, fateful past. Her own race ranked her at once seer and sorceress Further, i her masters son knew experimentally
 that her magic was not wholly matter | of fable. He remembered but too well | how in the old days the strongest arm in 1 the plantation had withered at her curse; | even better, the sidelong downcast look with which, after freedom came, she had
 approached him, saying, "Marse Frank,
 L-I-gwine leave yo'-fur yo' own | good, unnerstan.
 He could not, if he would, forget the
 unctuous satisfaction underlying the seemingly humble words Then he did not stop to think what it might mean, rent and torn as his mind was with the blows and buffetings of fate. As time brought calmness and clarity to his men,
 tai atmosphere, he had begun to piece | together many shreds of his misfortunes and so in a measure judge the stuff | whereof they were spun.
 Throughout the process the feeling had grown and strengthened that this weazened creature, so brown, so bent, so soft of voice and downcast of eye, held in her hands more than one clew, worth to him far more than life Indeed life meant to this brave gentleman but I weary battle, where defeat was shame, victory only death with honor. Fate had so nearly stripped him of I human feelings, of human ties, There was only Dare, slip of a girl, who would marry away from the Overton ! name, who would forget in her frocks her babies, her husband, all the story, | the wrong, the tragedy of her race From the outset she was among his dis appointments. He had so hoped for a grandson that this pulling girl seemed | sorry jest of fate-all the more when within a year of her birth she was left | wholly orphaned If her father had but lived, if that other Brave as he was, Francis Overton dared not trust himself l to think of or remember the valley of the shadow from which his soul had come I out so cruelty scared.
 Strong in this nameless, for1nless inn pulse, he had drawn rein at Jincey's cabin when the sun was an hour high. It sat under the lee of sharp hill, whose shadow fell heavily about it. A brindled starveling dog lay on the step before the single door. Its shutter stood fairly ajar, giving long glimpse of the dusk inte- rior, where fire of roots smoldered in the big fireplace, their burning filling all the place with dank, pungent smell
 The mongrel lay voiceless, motionless, watching the newcomer with fierce, beady eyes It was but starveling atom of skin and bone, hardly able by the look of it to upbear the chain which was fas- tened at one end to its collar, at the oth CT to a staple driven ill the long wall. Major Overton looked at it compass sionately. He knew that the gaunt crea- | ture was no reflex of poverty within, but | victim to the belief among the class of its mistress that only a hungry dog is a trusty guard. AS he set foot upon the threshold, rapping loudly on the batten, the cur, with a quick, stealthy motion, made as if to set his teeth in his leg. Instead of kicking or striking it, Major Overton turned and looked steadily at it until it slunk out of sight under the house.
 Before he turned away his eyes soft, cracked laugh at his elbow made him start. Jincey had flung wide the door and stood pcering at him from under her | hand and saying:
 ''Marse Frank, won t yo' nebber learn ter kick dogs in time?
 The covert significance of the query was lost upon her visitor. or if he needed it, he gave no sign. Stepping within, he fixed firm regard upon the old woman and said very low:
 'Jincey, do you know why I have como here? confess that cannot say"
 Again Jincey laughed This time | there was hint of triumph in it. A sudden flame on the hearth lit up the low, grimy interior, tho gun upon the wall, the swinging rack heaped with skins and garments, the big plump bed, with its white pillows and rising sun" coverlid, the hide bottomed chairs, the TOW of chests against the wall the table at one side spread with an untouched breakfast, Jincey herself, with her thatch of snow white wool, her keen, down lid ded eyes, her small fingered, skinny hands
 She held both before her, as in depre- cation, and said slowly, as if in deep meditation: Maybe it's because I'm most dead You couldn't be let wait any longer.
 There was so little of African accent or idiom in her speech as to proclaim i that she had been in her youth more I with white people than with the black. There was, too a curious similarity of intonation to the voice of her visitor. A quick ear would easily perceive that their speech had been nodded after much the same model Major Overton shiver- ed slightly as she spoke and said, drop ping into the nearest chair, Mothers been dead more than 50 years, Jincey, but you've got her accent as pat as the day she died"
 ''I don't change-in some things, the black woman said, moving toward the fire and steadying herself against one of the huge rock jambs. Major Overton got up and stood facing her, eying her keenly as she slowly fingered the rosary of keys at her girdle.
 Upon one of them-a small dull bit of brass-her hand paused with slow, sen sitive clutch, then moved defantly on to the copper, the steel, the iron, that made up the tale. But not one of them was so odd, had such wards as the brass one, though it was strangely familiar to Major Overton's eye. He held out his hand for it, saying carelessly, ''Let me see that, Jincey, that brass key there" Without a word she laid it in his palm. He saw the duplicate of the key which had locked in bis fathers deeds in that faraway night. so sorrowfully we'll remembered.
 What does this unlock?" he asked,