“Braman was—”
“Go!” she cried in a frenzy of anxiety; “go!”
He laughed mockingly, and looked at her intently. “I suppose I will never understand women. You are my enemy, and yet you give me food and drink and are eager to have me escape your accomplice. Don’t you know that this record will ruin him?”
“Go, go!” she panted.
“Well, you’re a puzzle!” he said. She saw him leap into the saddle, and she ran to the lamp, blew out the flame, and returned to the open door, in which she stood for a long time, listening to rapid hoof beats that gradually receded. Before they died out entirely there came the sound of many others, growing in volume and drawing nearer, and she beat her hands together, murmuring:
“Run, Nigger—run, run, run!”
She closed the door as the hoof beats sounded in the yard, locking it and retreating to the foot of the stairs, where Agatha stood.
“What does it all mean?” asked the elder woman. She was trembling.
“Oh, I don’t know,” whispered the girl, gulping hard to keep her voice from breaking. “It’s something about Trevison’s land. And I’m afraid, Aunty, that there is something terribly wrong. Mr. Corrigan says it belongs to him, and the court in Manti has decided in his favor. But according to the record in Trevison’s possession, he has a clear title to it.”