And this was her work! This mischief she had done! She trembled like one guilty, and the love she would not own, and she could not master, seemed to her shuddering soul a crime.
So excited was her manner that it attracted the attention of others in the room. At this moment a negro boy entered the room, where Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins were sitting with Mr. Diggs, his face wearing a strangely puzzled look. He paused and looked around. Whether he was more frightened or puzzled it would have been difficult to tell.
"Well, Job, what is it?" asked Mr. Tompkins, noticing the negro's awkward manner.
"If you please, marster," he said, shaking his head, "Marster Abner—"
"What of him?" asked Mr. Tompkins, for the boy had paused.
"Why, he—he is comin'?"
Before any one could make reply, quick steps were heard on the graveled walk. Mr. Tompkins, motioning the servant aside, went himself to the door, and, as he opened it, heard Oleah's voice, imperious and harsh:
"You are my prisoner, sir!"
"Oleah, my son, this is a matter too serious for jesting," said the father.
"I am not jesting. My first duty is to my country. He is an enemy to my country, and my country's enemies are mine. My men are within call," he continued, turning to Abner. "Do you surrender?"