straight and strong, and, brushed back smoothly from her temples as
it was, contrasted sharply with a skin just creamy enough to
establish it as otherwise than pure white. Egyptian, or Greek, or of
unknown race, this servant, Delphine, might have been; but had it not
been for her station and surroundings, one could never have suspected
in her the trace of negro blood. She stood now, a mellow-tinted
statue of not quite yellow ivory, silent, turning upon her mistress
eyes large, dark and inscrutable as those of a sphinx. One looking
upon the two, as they thus confronted each other, must have called
them a strange couple. Why they should be mistress and servant was
not a matter to be determined upon a first light guess. Indeed, they
seemed scarcely such. From dark eye to dark eye there seemed to pass
a signal of covert understanding, a signal of doubt, or suspicion, or
armed neutrality, yet of mutual comprehension.

"Delphine," said Mrs. Ellison, presently, "bring me a glass of wine.
And from now on, Delphine, see to it that you watch that girl. Tell
me what she does. There's very little restraint of any kind here on
the plantation, and she is just the age--well, you must keep me
informed. You may bring the decanter, Delphine. I really don't feel
fit for breakfast."




CHAPTER II

MULEY