"What's the matter, Dolf? Isn't it breakfast-time? Where is your master going—and—and—Well, Dolf, can't you tell me why Miss Elsie isn't down?"
"Miss Elsie, oh, sah, she am sick."
"Sick, Dolf! You don't say that?" cried Tom, starting up, with his face all in a chill of anxiety.
"Yes, I mean just dat, and nothing else."
"No, no; not very sick, Dolf," cried Tom, trembling through all his great frame, "only a little nervous, a headache, or something of that sort."
"She's just ravin'—crazy—ask Vic if you don't believe me. The doctors come in before daylight; I went after 'em myself. Robbers broke into de house last night, sah, and frightened our sweet young lady a'most to death."
"Robbers, Dolf!"
"Yes, sah. A gemman, too, as has been a visitor in dis dentical house. Marster catched him in de act ob takin' out de silver, and de gemman—robber, I mean—felt so 'shamed ob himself dat he up and banged a bullet straight frough his own bussom, afore Miss Elsie, too!"
"Poor thing; precious little darling," cried Tom; "Mellen's left her all alone, and Elizabeth away; dear me! Dolf, Dolf, what was that?"
"It's her a screaming."