"Better go on to Hay Hill, Miss Edy! 'Deed, 'fore marster, better go to
Hay Hill."
"No," said the young girl, "my resolution is taken—we will return to
Luckenough."
The arguments of the old negroes waxed fainter and fewer. They felt a vague but potent confidence in Edith and her abilities, and a sense of protection in her presence, from which they were loth to part.
The sun was high when they entered the forest shades again.
"See," said Edith to her companions, "everything is so fresh and beautiful and joyous here! I cannot even imagine danger."
Edith on reaching Luckenough retired to bed, and addressed herself to sleep. It was in vain—her nerves were fearfully excited. In vain she tried to combat her terrors—they completely overmastered her. She was violently shocked out of a fitful doze.
Old Jenny stood over her, lifting her up, shaking her, and shouting in her ears:
"Miss Edith! Miss Edith! They are here! They are here! We shall be murdered in our beds!"
In the room stood old Oliver, gray with terror, while all the dogs on the premises were barking madly, and a noisy party at the front was trying to force an entrance.
Violent knocking and shaking at the outer door and the sound of voices.