"Yes. It looks very much as though he had been—" he hesitated, doubtful whether to tell her; but the plain truth being unavoidable, he concluded, "assassinated."
With an exclamation of horror, she clasped her hands. There was a moment of tense silence, during which she regarded him with wide, startled eyes—a look which told piteously that this abrupt announcement had penetrated her susceptible heart, searching out, with callous cruelty, each tender spot that could be lacerated and hurt.
At last she cried aloud, in blank, utter dismay: "Mr. Converse! Oh, this is awful! Joyce! poor child!—and Mobley!" She buried her face in her hands, and, rising, rushed precipitately into the house.
The Captain sat motionless, in a dilemma whether to depart or to wait; wondering what Charlotte herself wished him to do; deeply moved by her distress, which was so much greater than he could possibly have expected.
But Polly Ann immediately set his doubts at rest. The face she presented to him was both troubled and wrathful.
"Miss Cha'lotte she say fo' you ter wait," she said with unaccountable severity. The announcement had much the nature of a peremptory command.
"All right, Aunty," responded the Captain, absently.
"Don' yer 'aunty' me." Her voice rose rapidly. "I hain't no aunty er yo'n. All yer has ter do is ter des wait—heah." She designated the porch with a stern and accusing finger. "Mon, whut yer do ter Miss Cha'lotte?"
At last the reason for this anger became plain. "I brought her some very sad news," he replied.
"La! is dat whut's de matteh?" Then, in a hoarse whisper, "Anything happen ter Docteh Mobley Wes'brook?" she asked.