"His father was killed last night."
Incredulity and astonishment overspread the black face, and Polly Ann threw aloft her hands. Mr. Converse was obliged, briefly, to detail the particulars. Polly Ann inquired, anxiously:
"Is you a docteh?"
"No, Aunty. Why?"
She advanced nearer and lowered her voice. "Kase I'se worried 'bout Miss Elinor, seh. Miss Cha'lotte done send fo' Docteh Mobley already dis mawnin'; but I don' spec' he come now wid he pa daid."
Polly Ann shook her head dubiously as she moved slowly back into the house. "Hit don' look right," she muttered, "'bout Miss Elinor, an' I'se nowise satisfied in my min'.... An' de General daid! Lawd! Lawd! Hit sho' do look lak er jedgment; hit sho' do!"
CHAPTER III
"PAQUITA—WHAT DO YOU SPELL?"
Presently Charlotte reappeared, composed and listless, her pale countenance subdued with sorrow.
"You must pardon my having left you so unceremoniously," she began, her quiet voice even quieter than usual; "but your news was so shocking—my rest has been so broken—that I was not strong to bear it. It is appalling, Mr. Converse; I don't fully realize it yet. It troubles me greatly to be so situated that I cannot go to Joyce."