"Have you brought her?" thundered Old Hurricane, rising up.
"Please, marse, yes, sir; I done found her and brought her home safe."
"Send her up to me," said Old Hurricane, sinking back with a sigh of infinite relief.
Wool flew to do his bidding.
In five minutes Capitola entered her uncle's chamber.
Now, Old Hurricane had spent a night of almost intolerable anxiety upon his favorite's account, bewailing her danger and praying for her safety; but no sooner did he see her enter his chamber safe and sound and smiling than indignation quite mastered him, and jumping out of his bed in his nightgown, he made a dash straight at Capitola.
Now, had Capitola run there is little doubt but that, in the blindness of his fury, he would have caught and beat her then and there. But Cap saw him coming, drew up her tiny form, folded her arms and looked him directly in the face.
This stopped him; but, like a mettlesome old horse suddenly pulled up in full career, he stamped and reared and plunged with fury, and foamed and spluttered and stuttered before he could get words out.
"What do you mean, you vixen, by standing there and popping your great eyes out at me? Are you going to bite, you tigress? What do you mean by facing me at all?" he roared, shaking his fist within an inch of Capitola's little pug nose.
"I am here because you sent for me, sir," was Cap's unanswerable rejoinder.