She had been told the weird story of the medicine-man and the ghostly voice, and, without reason, she took the incident as a warning, and associated it with the man across the way.
She was come of a superstitious race, and she herself had heard and seen things of which she never had been able to speak--the footsteps in the church the night she had screwed the little cross to the door again; the tiny round white light by the door of the church; the hood which had vanished into the unknown.

One mystery fed another.

It seemed to her as if some dreadful event were forward; and all day she kept her eyes fixed on the tailor's door.
Dead--if M'sieu' should die! If M'sieu' should die--it needed all her will to prevent herself from going over and taking things in her own hands, being his nurse, his handmaid, his slave.

Duty--to the government, to her father?
Her heart cried out that her duty lay where all her life was eddying to one centre.

What would the world say?
She was not concerned for that, save for him.