“Oh, massa, Juba die! If Juba go back, Juba die!” and he wiped away the drops that stood upon his forehead. “But me will go, if massa bid--me will die!” Mr. Vincent began to imagine that the poor fellow was out of his senses. He assured him, with the greatest kindness, that he would almost as soon hazard his own life as that of such a faithful, affectionate servant; but he pressed him to explain what possible danger he dreaded from returning to Harrowgate. Juba was silent, as if afraid to speak--“Don’t fear to speak to me,” said Mr. Vincent; “I will defend you: if anybody have injured you, or if you dread that any body will injure you, trust to me; I will protect you.” “Ah, massa, you no can! Me die, if me go back! Me no can say word more;” and he put his finger upon his lips, and shook his head. Mr. Vincent knew that Juba was excessively superstitious; and convinced, that, if his mind were not already deranged, it would certainly become so, were any secret terror thus to prey upon his imagination, he assumed a very grave countenance, and assured him, that he should be extremely displeased if he persisted in this foolish and obstinate silence. Overcome by this, Juba burst into tears, and answered: “Den me will tell all.” This conversation passed before Miss Portman and Charles Percival, who were walking in the park with Mr. Vincent, at the time he met Juba and asked him to go for the tambourine. When he came to the words, “Me will tell all,” he made a sign that he wished to tell it to his master alone. Belinda and the little boy walked on, to leave him at liberty to speak; and then, though with a sort of reluctant horror, he told that the figure of an old woman, all in flames, had appeared to him in his bedchamber at Harrowgate every night, and that he was sure she was one of the obeah-women of his own country, who had pursued him to Europe to revenge his having once, when he was a child, trampled upon an egg-shell that contained some of her poisons. The extreme absurdity of this story made Mr. Vincent burst out a laughing; but his humanity the next instant made him serious; for the poor victim of superstitious terror, after having revealed what, according to the belief of his country, it is death to mention, fell senseless on the ground. When he came to himself, he calmly said, that he knew he must now die, for that the obeah-women never forgave those that talked of them or their secrets; and, with a deep groan, he added, that he wished he might die before night, that he might not see _her_ again. It was in vain to attempt to reason him out of the idea that he had actually seen this apparition: his account of it was, that it first appeared to him in the coach-house one night, when he went thither in the dark--that he never afterwards went to the coach-house in the dark--but that the same figure of an old woman, all in flames, appeared at the foot of his bed every night whilst he stayed