‚ÄúI am glad to hear you say that,‚Äù she said methodically, ‚Äúfor Jason was a brave adventurer‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“I thought he was a thief.”
‚ÄúOh, well‚ÅÝ‚Äîthose were other times.‚Äù
“The Cresswells are thieves now.”
Miss Taylor answered sharply.
“Bles, I am ashamed to hear you talk so of your neighbors simply because they are white.”
But Bles continued.
“This is the Black Sea,” he said, pointing to the dull cabins that crouched here and there upon the earth, with the dark twinkling of their black folk darting out to see the strangers ride by.
Despite herself Miss Taylor caught the allegory and half whispered, “Lo! the King himself!” as a black man almost rose from the tangled earth at their side. He was tall and thin and sombre-hued, with a carven face and thick gray hair.
“Your servant, mistress,” he said, with a sweeping bow as he strode toward the swamp. Miss Taylor stopped him, for he looked interesting, and might answer some of her brother’s questions. He turned back and stood regarding her with sorrowful eyes and ugly mouth.
“Do you live about here?” she asked.
‚ÄúI‚Äôse lived here a hundred years,‚Äù he answered. She did not believe it; he might be seventy, eighty, or even ninety‚ÅÝ‚Äîindeed, there was about him that indefinable sense of age‚ÅÝ‚Äîsome shadow of endless living; but a hundred seemed absurd.