Long remained Miss Seabright with her head bowed upon her hand in bitter thought. Twice a servant came and announced dinner without her seeing or hearing him. The third time, when he approached and spoke close to her ear, she raised her head languidly and said:
“Ask Miss Joe to dine without me.”
And when Miss Joe herself came in with anxious inquiries about her health, and affectionate offers of tea and toast and jellies, she answered, with a bitter smile:
“Oh, be easy, dear friend; a little fasting will not hurt my flesh and blood!”
Day waned, and still she maintained her silent and thoughtful posture. Night came, and a servant entered with candles. The glare of light aroused her, and, looking up, she saw the dark face of the man turned ashen gray with fear. “What is the matter, Cæsar?”
“Light on de island, miss; you kin see it plain as star a-shinin’!”
“Light on the island? Well, I will go and see myself. Where can this light be seen from?”
“From the garret window, miss, sure as you’re born.”
“Go on before me,” she said, rising from her recumbent posture, and following the man up the several flight of stairs to the attic.
Arrived there, in the very front room where Elsie had been a prisoner on the last night of her stay at Mount Calm, they paused.