family history was her Bible.

She looked down on the Pinckneys as trash beside the Mascarenes, and
interlopers, and this attitude and point of view though well known to Miss
Pinckney was not in the least resented by her.

But during the last few years this old lady's intellect had been steadily
coming under eclipse; still insisting on doing little jobs in a futile
sort of way, silence had been creeping upon her so that she rarely spoke
now, and when she did, by chance, her words revealed the fact that her
mind was dwelling in the past.

Rachel, the cook, a sturdy coloured woman with her head bound up in an
isabelle-coloured handkerchief was standing by the kitchen table on which
she was resting the fore-finger of her left hand, whilst with the right
she was turning over some fish that had just been sent in from the
fishmonger's. She seemed in a critical mood, but what she said to Miss
Pinckney was lost to Phyl whose attention was attracted by a chuckling
sound from near the range.

It was Prue.

The old woman at sight of Phyl had dropped the knife and the onion on
which she had been engaged. She was now seated, hands on knees, chuckling
and nodding to the girl, then, scarcely raising her right hand from her
knee, she made a twiddling movement with the fore-finger as if to say,
"come here--come here--I have something to tell you."

Phyl glanced at Miss Pinckney who was so taken up with what Rachel was
saying about the fish that she noticed nothing. Then she looked again at
Prue and, unable to resist the invitation, came towards her. The old woman
caught her by the arm so that she had to bend her head.

"Miss Julie," whispered Prue, "Massa Pinckney told me tell yo' he be at de
gate t'night same time 'slas' night. Done you let on 's I told yo'," she
gave the arm a pinch and relapsed into herself chuckling whilst Phyl stood
with a little shiver, half of relief at her escape from that bony clutch,
half of dread--a vague dread as though she had come in contact with
something uncanny.

She came to the table again and stood without looking at Prue, whilst Miss
Pinckney completed her orders, then, that lady, having finished her
business and casting an eye about the place on the chance of finding any
dirt or litter, saw Prue and asked how she was doing.

"Well, miss, she's doin' fa'r," replied Rachel, "but I'm t'inking she's
not long fore de new Jerusalem. Sits didderin' dere 'n' smokin' her pipe,
'n' lays about her wi