But that was not necessary. The man who had shown me in had heard my words, and already had the other servants at work, closing and barring doors and windows. I saw that my assistance was not needed.
Then for the first time I looked at Dorothy. She was standing, leaning lightly with one hand upon a table, her eyes large and dark with terror, and her lips quivering, perhaps at the scene which had gone before. Her mother was seated by her, and it was to her I turned.
"I beg you to believe, Mrs. Stewart," I said, "that I did not know you and your daughter were here. Indeed, I thought you both were back at Riverview ere this."
"I believe you, Mr. Stewart," she answered softly. "I believe you to be a man of honor. I am sure I can trust you."
There was a tone in her voice which I had never heard before.
"Thank you," I said. "I shall try to deserve your trust," and then I turned away to look to our defenses.
I confess that, after the first five minutes, our situation appeared more perilous than I had at first believed it. There was no white man in the house except myself, only a dozen negro servants, five of whom were men. A boy, whom I sent to the negro quarters to bring reinforcements, returned with the news that they were deserted, but he brought back with him the overseer, a man named Brightson, who was to prove his mettle before the night was out.
"I suspected this afternoon that there was something in the wind," he said to me, when I had explained our situation, "though I could not guess what it was. The niggers were so damned quiet, not singing in the field as they always do. They've been mighty uneasy for a month back."
"Yes, I know," I interrupted. "It's the same all over the colony. They think the French are going to help them kill the English. I'm rather glad they ran away. How about these house niggers?"
"Oh, they're all right, especially Pomp there. They'll help us all they can."