Come!
what did you _think_ I meant?"
While he had been laughing, Daisy had been trying to get
command of herself, and to get her throat clear for talking;
there had been a very uncomfortable thick feeling in it at
first. Now she answered with simple dignity and soberness, "I
did not know, Mr. McFarlane, but you meant Juanita's prayers."
"Does she pray?" said Gary, innocently.
"Yes."
"Long prayers, Daisy?"
"Yes," — unwillingly now.
"Then, that must have been what you heard!" Gary said, looking
up to Preston. No answer came from him. Gary was as sober now
as seven judges.
"Did she speak her prayers where you could hear her, Daisy?"
"I used to hear her —"
"Mornings and evenings?"
"Yes."
"But you heard her in broad day, Preston?"
"Yes; one afternoon it was. I heard her as soon as I got near
the house. Daisy was asleep, and I went away as wise as I
came."
"This grows interesting," said Gary, returning to Daisy.
"Could you hear the words that were said?"
"No."
"Only a muttering?"
Daisy was silent. The tears came into her eyes.
"Depend upon it, Daisy, it was incantations you heard.
Description agrees exactly. Confess now, didn't a sort of
feeling grow over you — creep over you — whenever you heard
that muttering sound, as if you would do anything that black
woman told you?"
Daisy was silent.
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