A quick light flashed into Lottie's eyes. She looked from side to side, as if wondering what direction to take. Her sharp intellect almost caught the truth.
"But Miss Jessie isn't fretting so about that. There's something else. Oh, Miss Hyde! do tell me what it is!"
"I cannot tell you, Lottie, what I do not understand myself."
"And you won't listen. High notions will be the death of you yet. Oh, how I hate airs! Now, if it had been me, I'd have known all about it, by hook or by crook, but it's of no use talking. Are you sure Babylon is going; if she is, her last trump has been played, and she thinks she's won High, Low, Game, and a Jack turned up. Oh, if I only had time to make this all out, but it's hop, skip, and a jump; here they jump right into the dark."
"What do you mean, Lottie?"
"Oh, nothing particular. You keep your secrets, and I'll keep mine. That's fair."
As Lottie spoke, the door of our room was open, and this gave us a view of the hall, at the other end of which was Mrs. Dennison's chamber. The door of that room also was wide open, and we saw the widow talking earnestly with her mulatto maid, who had drawn a couple of trunks from the closet, and was now emptying a wardrobe in what seemed to be angry haste. With three or four dresses flung over her arm, she turned fiercely upon her mistress, and seemed to be upbraiding her.
Mrs. Dennison answered with an imperative gesture, at which Cora tossed her head, like a racer under curb, and flung the dresses in a heap upon the bed, stamping angrily on the floor as Mrs. Dennison left the room and turned down the staircase which led to the library.
"By gracious! they are packing up, sure enough!" exclaimed Lottie, "and I standing here like a frightened goose. Take care of Miss Jessie, ma'am. I couldn't help you now—no, not if she were dying. Babylon is playing that last trump this minute."
Lottie left me instantly, and I saw her draw close to Cora, with whom she had become very intimate during the last few weeks.