There was a sudden dispersion of the group of negroes near the porch; a horse-block with a flight of steps attached was brought, and placed in position for the visitor’s descent. It appeared that she needed this assistance, for she had remained motionless in the wagon, making no effort to follow Cicely’s example. Now she descended, jealously aided by Meadows, who had retained but one clear idea amid all these bewilderments of night-drives with half-dressed blacks and mad mules through a desert of sand, and that was to do all in her power for the unfortunate lady whom for the moment she was serving; for what must her sufferings be—to come from Hayling Hall to this!
“Here is Eve,” Cicely said, leading the visitor up the steps.
The white-haired man and the tall woman who had been waiting within, came forward.
“Grandpa,” said Cicely, by way of introduction. “And Aunt Sabrina.”
“My father, Judge Abercrombie,” said the tall lady, correctingly. Then she put her arms round Eve and kissed her. “You are very welcome, my dear. But how cold your hands are, even through your gloves! Dilsey, make a fire.”
“I am not cold,” Eve answered.
But she looked so ill that the judge hastily offered her his arm.
She did not accept it. “It is nothing,” she said. Anger now came to her aid, Cicely’s announcement had stunned her. “I am perfectly well,” she went on, in a clear voice. “It has been a long voyage, and that, you know, is tiresome. But now that it is over, I shall soon be myself again, and able to continue my journey.”
“Continue! Are you going any further, then?” inquired Miss Abercrombie, mildly. “I had hoped—we have all hoped—that you would spend a long time with us.” Miss Abercrombie had a soft voice with melancholy cadences; her tones had no rising inflections; all her sentences died gently away.
“You are very kind. It will be impossible,” Miss Bruce responded, briefly.