I did not say much in reply. My odd experience of a few minutes before puzzled me. Helen’s account of the girl threw a weird light upon what I felt bound, as a reasonable man, to consider merely curious phenomena, subjective in character and due to some unexplained physical cause. I determined to say a few decided words to Robert Glen about the culpability of allowing his delicate wife to contend with such an annoyance as Asenath, who, if not a sorceress, certainly was a fractious and troublesome servant. “It is strange that Robert does not remove her,” said I. Helen’s face flushed and was drawn by a momentary spasm. She looked at me in troubled silence, as if she could not decide to speak what she wished to tell me. “I am afraid for Robert,” she said at length, almost in a whisper; “there is something in that girl’s demeanor to him that it sickens me to think of--and which I dare not try to explain, even to myself. It seems impossible that she can dare to think that he”--she went on hurriedly, after a pause--“you see, he believes in no psychic powers and is not on his guard. He calls her unearthly pranks mere mischief that a few years’ discipline will take out of her. Robert intends her to marry Lucas.” She spoke the last sentence quite loudly, and, as the girl and her driver were passing by the window, they overheard. Lucas, a squat, stolid-looking mulatto, with a face like that of a satiated animal, chuckled and poked at Asenath with the gad. The girl stopped. She threw down her burden, flung back her head, and turned upon Helen a wild and vicious stare. Her face, streaming with perspiration, was full of threat. She gasped for breath from emotion or the heaviness of her toil. She raised one hand, wiped her brow with its open palm, and flung the drops of sweat in a shower at Helen. “May every drop curse you!” she said, between her labored breaths. Helen looked at her with quiet scorn. “Go on, Lucas,” she said, calmly. Asenath shook herself, like a chained animal. She ground her teeth and turned upon Lucas in fury, as if she would rend him. He did not quail, but raised his gad threateningly and pointed to the barrow-handles, and, after a momentary struggle with herself, the girl took them up and went on, panting under her toil. “She shall continue that until she drops,” said my sister. “But, Helen, that surely is cruel.” “Not more so than drawing the fangs of a snake. I have discovered that she is psychically powerless when physically exhausted. All the negroes on the place know this and are rejoicing now--they all feel more secure for knowing that she has been disciplined.” While she was speaking, I saw Robert Glen coming along the walk to the house. Helen saw him, too. Leaning out the window, she called to Lucas and bade him take his charge “to the old barn.” He hurriedly departed, driving the girl--who now seemed doubly unwilling to drag her load--literally like an ox, and very unsparing of the gad.