“Might as well kill ’em as scare ’em to death,” said the woman shrewdly. “But I’ll lock up every night same as always. Dat nigh shook me into my grave, dat last trouble.” “See, then, that there’s no more,” he said sternly. “You’re responsible for them till I come back. And I’ll have no talking to them, mind that. You can’t afford to know anything about accidents, and I suppose neither of the others know anything to tell.” “Not one of ’em.” Her voice shook as if at some horrible memory. “You think I tell what I find, and bury? Nobody knows nothing ’bout dis nigger----” “But me,” said Egerton slowly. “And what is done here you are responsible for, and you know it.” She had good reason to. She broke out into a flood of protestations that he cut short; and while the listener stood trying to make sense of them she heard the man’s soft, quick footfall leaving the veranda. She had no mind to speak to him now. She knew there would be no satisfaction from him; nothing but smooth lies. Before she could move she heard Salome speaking to herself where Egerton had left her. “‘Take care o’ dem ladies,’ he says,” she broke out in a kind of wail. “‘You’s ’sponsible.’ But who’s going to take care of me, an’ Chloe, an’ Amelia Jane? Nothin’ but our own black skins. Praise de Lawd dis day dat I ain’t white!” She shuffled off, and Andria went up-stairs, pale and half-distraught. What sixth sense made her sure that all this show of warning, of caution, only covered something that was meant to happen. “You’re responsible,” he had said to Salome, and a horrible conviction was cold at Andria’s heart. If anything dreadful overtook her and Beryl, Egerton would have washed his hands of it. He had warned them and their keeper! Sick with apprehension, Andria almost ran against Amelia Jane, waiting, stout and attentive, on the landing. “You looks terrible tuckered out, missus,” she said respectfully. “Best lie down and rest.” Andria nodded; and then spoke on a sudden impulse. “Is this place Bermuda?” she said. “Law’s sake, missus, certain it is! Didn’t you know dat?” the colored woman said emphatically. “No,” said Andria slowly, walking past her. CHAPTER XII. THE HAUNTING EYES. Beryl Corselas, wearied out, had slept from ten in the morning till late afternoon. Now, as she sat in the drawing-room with the western sun pouring through the open doorway, she looked a different girl; one whom Egerton would scarcely have known.