Page:Emma Speed Sampson--The shorn lamb.djvu/310



Aunt Peachy spent more and more time over her charms, in an endeavor to find some spell that would be more potent than the tricks she was sure Philip was up to. Betsy had said he was a better charm worker than she was and surely nothing short of conjuring could have won over all the colored contingent to his side. Even her own son, Old Abe, and all of his descendants had left her completely. They seldom came near her now, not even to bring the choice morsels of scandal that she longed to hear since she had become too feeble to go out in the world in search of amusement. Sometimes she even fancied that Rolfe Bolling was no longer subject to her powerful and evil will. Her piercing eyes had lately caught a look in his of hate. She knew he feared her—she meant that he should but she craved his love with an eagerness she had never felt for her own offspring. She had a suspicion that if it were not for her determination that he should push Major Taylor to the utmost the law