frien'," she said. "Yuh done hear um call me 'Sister,' ain't yuh? Berry well den. Dat mean me and she is frien'."
§
Bess lay upon the bed in Porgy's room and stared at the ceiling with hard, bright eyes. From time to time she would pluck at the sheet that covered her and utter hurried, indistinct sentences that bore not the slightest relation to existing circumstances. A week had passed since her release, and its seven interminable days had been spent in this fashion.
Porgy was out upon the day's rounds. Occasionally the door to the sick-room would open, and an awed, black face peer in. The mystery of delirium frightened and perplexed the negroes, and limited the manifestations of kindness and sympathy that they usually bestowed upon unfortunate friends. Even Maria was not proof against this dread, and the irrelevant observations that greeted her when she went in with the daily lunch sent her hurrying wide-eyed from the room.
Porgy returned early in the evening. His face was deeply marked, but the lines were those of anxiety, and his characteristic firm-
