Daisy was silent. The tears came into her eyes.

"Depend upon it, Daisy, it was incantations you heard. Description
agrees exactly. Confess now, didn't a sort of feeling grow over
you--creep over you--whenever you heard that muttering sound, as if you
would do anything that black woman told you?"

Daisy was silent.

"Don't you know it is not proper to pray so that people can hear you?
'tisn't the way to do. Witches pray that way--not good Christian people.
I regard it as a very fortunate thing, Daisy, that we have got you safe
out of her hands. Don't you think that prayer ought to be private?"

"Yes," said Daisy. She was overwhelmed with the rapidity and liveliness
of Gary's utterances, which he rattled forth as lightly as if they had
been the multiplication table.

"Yes, just so. It is not even a matter to be talked about--too
sacred--so I am offending even against my own laws; but I wanted to know
how far the old witch had got hold of you. Didn't you feel when you
heard her mutterings, as if some sort of a spell was creeping over you?"

Daisy wished some sort of a spell could come over _him_; but she did not
know what to say.

"Didn't you gradually grow into the belief that she was a sort of saint,
Daisy?"

"What is a saint, Mr. McFarlane?"