“De ole man crazy,” Salome burst in, “but cunning--oh, cunning! He says yes, he sell de place. He creep away into de woods to find his jaguars dat was left, and he sit and sit again to watch. One day he catch master, sure!” Heriot nodded. “Erceldonne gave him money--something adequate--but the poor soul threw it in that pool. ‘Gold,’ he said, ‘a little gold to pay for much flesh and blood,’ so he threw it away. But he got no chance at Erceldonne, for he went off again the next day. God knows why he wanted the place!” “He wanted the crazy man to go on the track of the girl and her lover,” Andria cried. “The other man must----” “Beryl,” said Heriot slowly, “is in some way the living image of Lord Erceldonne. No! Don’t say it; let me finish,” for he knew what was on her tongue. “There were years after that when no one came to the island. Then one day Erceldonne came back, opened the house and put in it Salome and a lad of twenty and went away. The jaguars tore the boy to bits.” Salome threw up her arms. “It’s true,” she cried. “It’s true! I set here and hear dem in de broad day. After dat he brung Chloe and Amelia Jane, and why, I never knew. He brung me because--oh, missus, I had a child! I killed it in Jamaica because it had de master’s eyes. He bring me here and leave me because--oh!” wildly, “I couldn’t help myself. I was young den, and he took me for to keep house. I was mad wid de shame, wid de eyes ob de white child.” She cowered at Andria’s feet as she stood aghast. Was there no end to this man’s crimes? The next moment she put her hand on the black woman. Who was Andria Erle, to judge her? “Poor Salome! Poor soul!” she whispered. “He brung me,” sobbed the woman. “He didn’t care whether I live or die. He say dey hang me if ever I dare leave dis place.” Heriot said something under his breath. Jamaica had been his first abode when he left England; he remembered a queer story he had heard there about a woman named Salome who wanted to murder her child because it was white. She and her lover had fled, leaving the dead child where it lay, and afterward---- “Listen, Salome,” he said quickly, “the child was asleep, had slept all day. You were frightened and shook it----” “I shook de life out of it; it died,” she said, with a hoarse groan. “It died.” “It didn’t die,” returned Heriot, with a queer laugh. “A woman found it and ran with it to the doctor. It had been put to sleep with morphia; it’s alive now! And so is the chemist that sold the morphia to a white man. Your master had excellent reason on his own account to retire from Jamaica! “I saw your boy running round selling papers in Kingston, and some man told me his history. Your shaking couldn’t have killed a boy like that, Salome, even when he was a baby.” She could only stare at him. Then she broke out into incoherent words--into dreadful laughter.