Carlotta seemed in doubt; she pressed her hands forcibly on
her forehead; took up the coffee-pot to pour me out a cup, then sat
it down again; the old woman muttered something in their language;
Carlotta stamped with her little foot, and poured out the coffee.
She brought it to me--trembled as she placed it before me--seemed
unwilling to let go her hold, and her hand still grasped the cup, as
if she would take it away again. The old woman growled and muttered
something, in which I could only hear the name of her rival mentioned.
This was enough: the eyes of Carlotta lighted up like a flame; she
quitted her hold of the salver, retreated to the fireplace, sat
herself down, covered her face, and left me, as she supposed, to make
my last earthly repast.
"Carlotta," said I, with a sudden and vehement exclamation. She
started up, and the blood rushed to her face and neck, in a profusion
of blushes, which are perfectly visible through the skins of these
mulattos. "Carlotta," I repeated, "I had a dream last night, and who
do you think came to me? It was Obeah!" (She started at the name.) "He
told me not to drink coffee this morning, but to make the old woman
drink it." At these words the beldam sprang up. "Come here, you old
hag," said I. She approached trembling, for she saw that escape from
me was impossible, and that her guilt was detected. I seized a sharp
knife, and taking her by her few remaining grey and woolly hairs,
said, "Obeah's work must be done: I do not order it, but he commands
it; drink that coffee instantly.
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