present instance Miss Reed leaned forward suddenly, and darting a sharp
quick glance into his very consciousness said:--

"And yo' mean to say, co'nnle, there's nothing between yo' and Sally
Dows?"

Courtland neither flushed, trembled, grew confused, nor prevaricated.

"We are good friends, I think," he replied quietly, without evasion or
hesitation.

Miss Reed looked at him thoughtfully, "I reckon that is so--and no more.
And that's why yo' 've been so lucky in everything," she said slowly.

"I don't think I quite understand," returned Courtland, smiling. "Is
this a paradox--or a consolation?"

"It's the TRUTH," said Miss Reed gravely. "Those who try to be anything
more to Sally Dows lose their luck."

"That is--are rejected by her. Is she really so relentless?" continued
Courtland gayly.

"I mean that they lose their luck in everything. Something is sure to
happen. And SHE can't help it either."

"Is this a Sibylline warning, Miss Reed?"

"No. It's nigger superstition. It came from Mammy Judy, Sally's old
nurse. It's part of their regular Hoo-doo. She bewitched Miss Sally when
she was a baby, so that everybody is bound to HER as long as they care
for her, and she isn't bound to THEM in any way. All their luck goes to
her as soon as the spell is on them," she added darkly.

"I think I know the rest," returned Courtland with still greater
solemnity. "You gather the buds of the witch-hazel in April when the
moon is full. You then pluck three hairs from the young lady's right
eyebrow when she isn't looking"--

"Yo' can laugh, co'nnle, for yo' 're lucky--because yo' 're free."

"I'm not so sure of that," he said gallantly, "for I ought to be riding
at this moment over to the Infirmary to visit my Sunday sick. If being
made to pleasantly forget one's time and duty is a sign of witchcraft
I am afraid Mammy Judy's enchantments were not confined to only one
Southern young lady."

The sound of quick footsteps on the gravel path caused them both to look
up. A surly looking young fellow, ostentatiously booted and spurred,
and carrying a heavy rawhide riding-whip in his swinging hand, was
approaching them. Deliberately, yet with uneasy self-consciousness,
ignoring the presence of Courtland, he nodded abruptly to Miss Reed,
ascended the steps, brushed past them both without pausing, and entered
the house.

"Is that yo'r manners, Mr. Tom?" called the young lady after him,
a slight flush rising to her sallow cheek.