As her door closed I turned to the mulatto, who still stood there, lamp
in hand. I was not sleepy, and I wanted most of all to have an
understanding with Coombs. I could not talk with the fellow in the
presence of Mrs. Bernard, for he was the kind to be handled roughly for
results, but now I was ready to probe him to the bottom. "Is the
overseer downstairs?"

"No."

"See here, Sallie," I insisted warmly, "I 'm master of this house and I
want some kind of answer besides yes, and no. Where is he?"

"Ah reckon he's out in one o' ther cabins, sah--he done don't sleep in
the house nohow."

"He does n't sleep here! Why?"

"Ah spect it 's cause he 's afeerd too, 'sah," she replied, her snaky
eyes showing. "Ah 's a voo-doo, an' ah don't care 'bout 'em tall, but
good Lor', dar ain't no white man wants ter stay in des yere house
mor'n one night."

She laughed, a weird, grating laugh, and started downstairs. I stood
still, watching her light disappear. Then, swearing at myself for a
coward, stepped back into my own room, and closed the door.