"
"To believe is not necessarily to be afraid," she added, quickly.
Now, had I believed in the voodoo craft, or in the power of an evil-eye,
I should also have feared. Those who have ever witnessed a sea-island
witch-dance can bear me out, and I think a man may dread a hag and be no
coward either. But distance and time allay the memories of such uncanny
works. I had forgotten whether I was afraid or not. So I said, "There
are no witches, Dorothy."
She looked at me, dreamily. "There are none ... that I fear."
"Not even Catrine Montour?" I asked, to plague her.
"No; it turns me cold to think of her running in the forest, but I am
not afraid."
She stood pensive in the doorway, rolling and unrolling her embroidery.
Harry and Cecile came out, flourishing alder poles from which lines and
hooks dangled. Samuel and Benny carried birchen baskets and
shallow nets.
"If we're to have Mohawk chubbs," said Cecile, "you had best come with
us, Dorothy. Ruyven has a book and has locked himself in the play-room."
But Dorothy shook her head, saying that she meant to ride the boundary
with us; and the children, after vainly soliciting my company, trooped
off towards that same grist-mill in the ravine below the bridge which I
had observed on my first arrival at Varick Manor.
"I am wondering," said Dorothy, "how you mean to pass the morning.
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