“What’s de matter, honey?” she asked. “I’m in great trouble, Aunt Julie Ann.” “Well, Mammy’s baby knows who ter come to when he’s in trouble!” she said tenderly. She had always called him baby--this bronzed hero of battle fields. His thirty years meant nothing to her except increasing faith in his manhood. Since the day she first took his baby form in her arms she had watched him grow in body and spirit with a brooding mother pride. “You must talk to Miss Stella for me,” he said. “Get close to her Aunt Julie Ann, you’re a woman, and tell her all the good things you remember about me. You know better than I do--you understand? Make her smile again and get her to see me.” “Now, you set down dar sir, an’ drink dat coffee an’ tell me what you doin’ gwine roun’ here mopin’ an’ pinin’ yo’ life out all ’bout a gal don’t care two straws whedder you’se er livin’ er dyin’. I’d be shamed er myself, great big grown man lak you is, what fit froo de war an’ everybody say gwine ter be de guvnor some day.” “Can’t you get her to see me, Aunt Julie Ann?” he interrupted, earnestly. “Drink dat coffee, an’ den I tell ye!” “It’s too hot for coffee--I’m not hungry--Tell me now.” “Drink it fur Mammy, boy--I wants de grouns. I’m gwine tell ye somefin when I looks in de cup. I seed a vision las’ night.” To humour her John drank the coffee in silence. She took the empty cup, studied its message, and looked into John’s face. “Yes, honey, hit’s des lak I see hit las’ night, an’ I warns ye! I see two purty gals--a fair one and a dark one. Bof lubs ye--but dey’s one er slippin up behind yer back wid a shinin’ knife in her hand. Her long black hair is hangin’ loose on her white shoulders an’ all twisted lak snakes. I see her hide de knife in her bosom an’ slip her arms roun’ yo neck. She kiss you an’ blindfold ye wid her curly hair an’ slip de knife from her bosom an’ stab you froo de heart! Mammy’s baby! Mammy’s baby!” The black woman’s voice sank to a weird whisper full of tears and ‘wild half-savage music as she seized John’s hand. “Don’t come to de house no mo,’ Marse John!” she pleaded. “And why not?” he asked sharply. “Case I look again in de vision an’ I see her face plain--an’ it wuz hers!” “Whose?” “Miss Stella, honey--I warns ye! she doan lub my baby--keep away from her!” “Rubbish, Aunt Julie Ann; you’ve been having a nightmare.” “I see it all, des ez plain ez I sees you now--I warns ye!” “I’ll risk it,” John laughed. “I’m hoping for good news to-morrow--please say your prayers for me to-night.” Yet in spite of his culture and the inheritance of centuries of knowledge, the voodoo message of his old nurse shrouded his spirit in deeper gloom. He walked home with a new sense of dread in his heart, wondering what answer she would send him to-morrow. CHAPTER XII--THE TRAP IS SPRUNG THE following morning when Stella, sitting up in bed, opened her mail and read Ackerman’s report, the last doubt of John Graham’s guilt was shattered.