Martha instantly closed the door of her own room, fastened it and ran to another door that connected her room with Marion’s. She swung that door open and looked into the girl’s room; heard the girl stifle a shriek—for the girl thought Carrington was coming upon her from that direction—and then Martha was at the girl’s side, whispering to her—excitedly comforting her.
“The damn trash—houndin’ you this way! He ain’ goin’ to hurt you, honey—not one bit!”
Outside the door they could hear Carrington walking about in the room. There came to the ears of the two women the scratch of a match, and then a steady glimmer of light streaked into the room from the bottom of the door, and they knew Carrington had lighted a lamp. A little later, while Martha stood, her arms around the girl, who leaned against the negro woman, very white and still, they heard Carrington talking with Parsons. They heard Parsons protesting, Carrington cursing him.
“He ain’ goin’ to git you, honey,” whispered Martha. “That man come heah the firs’ day, an’ I knowed he’s a rapscallion.” She pointed upward, to where a trap-door, partly open, appeared in the ceiling of the room.
“There’s the attic, honey. I’ll boost you, an’ you go up there an’ hide from that wild man. You got to, for that worfless Parsons am tellin’ him which room you’s in. You hurry—you heah me!”
She helped the girl upward, and stood listening until the trap-door grated shut. Then she turned and grinned at the door that led into the big room adjoining the kitchen. Carrington was at it, his shoulder against it; Martha could hear him cursing.
“Open up, here!” came Carrington’s voice through the door, muffled, but resonant. “Open the door, damn you, or I’ll tear it down!”
“Tear away, white man!” giggled Martha softly. “They’s a big ’sprise waitin’ you when you git in heah!”
For an instant following Carrington’s curses and demands there was a silence. It was broken by a splintering crash, and the negro woman saw the door split so that the light from the other room streaked through it. But the door held, momentarily. Then Carrington again lunged against it and it burst open, pieces of the lock flying across the room.
This time Carrington did not fall with the door, but reeled through the opening, erect, big, a vibrant, mirthless laugh on his lips.