“Marse Talbot!—Marse Talbot!” All domestic training was cast aside, not a moment could be lost—“All on ye!—dey's murder outside—somebody go git de colonel!—Oh, Gawd!—somebody git 'im quick!”
Few heard him and nobody paid any attention to his entreaties; nor could anybody, when they did listen, understand what he wanted—the men swearing under their breath, the girls indignant that he had blocked their way. Mrs. Rutter, who had seen his in-rush, sat aghast. Had Alec, too, given way, she wondered—old Alec who had had full charge of the wine cellar for years! But the old man pressed on, still shouting, his voice almost gone, his eyes bursting from his head.
“Dey's gwineter murder Marse Harry—I seen 'em! Oh!—whar's de colonel! Won't somebody please—Oh, my Gawd!—dis is awful! Don't I tell ye dey's gwineter kill Marse Harry!”
Mrs. Cheston, sitting beside Kate, was the only one who seemed to understand.
“Alec!” she called in her imperious voice—“Alec!—come to me at once! What is the matter?”
The old butler shambled forward and stood trembling, the tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Yes, mum—I'm yere! Oh, can't ye git de colonel—ain't nobody else'll do—”
“Is it a duel?”
“Yes, mum! I jes' done see 'em! Dey's gwineter kill my Marse Harry!”
Kate sprang up. “Where are they?” she cried, shivering with fear. The old man's face had told the story.