She said excitedly: “He’s de one I saw pass de do’ awhile befo’ Miss Dor’thy was found dead. I give him a drink ov water.”
The prisoner was in a frenzy now. Fiercely he glared like a great black beast, caged. The woman saw the officers fairly carry him into the cell, but she felt less fear than sorrow now, as her heart was full of the memory of the girl she had loved and had watched from the cradle-side.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Elliott Harding was coming home—home to Dorothy, and joy was so strong within him that it almost touched the edge of tears. The rising sun was trying hard to struggle out of a bluish haze, as he stepped from the train at Georgetown. Nodding to a negro driver, he walked to the hack, saying, “Drive me to my office, first, then you may take me out to Mr. Carr’s.”
The negro cast a glance behind, and stammered excitedly, as he mounted to the seat:
“Boss, dey’s erbout to mob yo’ man—de moonshiner dat you like ter got hung, I reck’n. Dey’s done at de jail by now.”
A mob! A multitude in passion! Anticipation of the consequences flashed all too plainly upon Elliott Harding. A thrill shot through him! He leaped into the back, and commanded:
“Drive to the jail with all your might.”
The negro’s white eyeballs rolled with swift alarm. He seized the lines, laid on the whip and shouted:
“Git up, git up.”