The passengers wondered, the horn sounded, and the horses pranced gaily off.
"Now, my friend," said the Squire to the equally wondering cottager, "take me where you have sheltered this poor stranger."
A few minutes' walk brought them to a neat little thatched cottage on the roadside, where in a rude cradle by the fire rocked a white baby, and on a settle, wrapped in her Indian shawl and supported by the poor woman's coarse pillow, lay the black nurse in charge, evidently exhausted by over-fatigue.
The best nourishment the little inn afforded carefully administered, and the Squire's kind words of encouragement, seemed to revive her a little.
"Tanks, massa," she murmured, "me bery tankful to you. Just like de dear Lord to send good Samaritan dis way. Oh yes, all good Samaritan in dis nice England. Cheer up, ole Phœbe, she do it all yet."
Then dozing a little, and suddenly starting up, she exclaimed,—
"Whar dat pickaninny? Neber let dem get her." And seeing the babe sleeping peacefully, she sank back again, murmuring, "Neber fear, missy. Phœbe keep going till she find de Moat House. Massa Guy tell her she be took in: den lie down and die quiet. Dis kind 'ooman let her lie and rest till morning."
The doctor's gig was at his door when the horn sounded and the letter was thrown down, and knowing the cottager who had hastily scrawled it as one of his honest humble friends, he drove off at once, taking sundry little possible requirements into account.
And after administering a composing draught to the excited over-wrought patient, he comforted her hostess with the assurance that after a thorough rest, she would be able to continue her journey. And the Squire was not slow to convince the doctor of his appreciation of promptitude and kindness.
The night had closed in when Mr. Hazelwood's carriage arrived at the village, and great was his surprise when the door flew open, and his own Dorothy sprang into his arms.