Before unlocking the door on this occasion she asked in a whisper, “Who’s dar?”
The reply came, “Sam.”
“What’s de matter?”
“I want to speak with you a minute. Open the door.”
“Can’t do it, Sam. It’s agin orders.”
“Well, no matter. I only thought you’d like to tell me what sort of a shawl to get.”
“What?—what’s dat you say ’bout a shawl?”
“The Massa has given me ten dollars to buy a silk shawl for you. What color do you want?”
Clara heard every word of this little dialogue. It was followed by the chambermaid’s unlocking the door, taking out the key and entering the billiard-room. Clara started from the bed, and went and listened. The only words she could distinguish were, “I’ll jes run up-stairs an’ git a pattern fur yer.” Clara tried the door, but found it locked. She listened yet more intently. There was no further sound. She waited five minutes, then went back to the bed and sat down.
A sense of something incommunicable and mysterious weighed upon her brain and agitated her thoughts. It was as if she were enclosed by an atmosphere impenetrable to intelligences that were trying to reach her brain. For a week she had seen no newspaper. What had happened during that time? Great events were impending. What shape had they taken? The terror of the Vague and the Unknown dilated her eyes and thrilled her heart.