But he had re-entered the room and clapped the door to behind him.
Gloria slid from the woman’s arms, sat down on the lowest step of the stairs and burst into tears.
“Come to bed, honey. Don’t sit there crying. You can’t do no good by dat. You can’t ’vent de debbil from habbin’ his own way dis night,” said ’Phia.
“Oh, I know—I know—I know!” sobbed the child.
“Well, den, come along up to bed, and I’ll stay ’long ob you for company.”
“Oh, I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—I’m so ’fraid. Let me sit here and wait——”
“Wait for what?”
“Oh, till uncle comes out, or one of them does. Oh, I couldn’t go to bed! I couldn’t go to sleep and leave them so! Hush!” suddenly exclaimed the child, breaking off in her talk, and bending forward her head and straining her sense in fearful attention, as she heard her uncle’s voice in low, tense, bitter tones, and then her aunt’s hissing tongue in reply.
The child clasped her hands in a piteous, helpless agony of prayer.
“Come, come, honey, come up to bed, and I will sit by you and tell you pretty stories about foxes and hares, and dwarfs and giants, and little pigs and things, like I used to do,” said ’Phia.