“Hush, Mammy,” said Vivienne.
“Can you not hear the feet of him that bringeth bad tidings?” rejoined the woman. “Howl, O fir trees, for the lofty cedar has fallen—howl, ye oaks of Bashan, for the forest of the vintage has come down. Woe, woe to him that buildeth a house with blood!”
Vivienne shuddered again, and to avoid looking at the blending of wrath and suffering on Mammy’s ugly face, leaned far out of the window. Down in the direction of the cottage a sudden confused noise had arisen, followed a few seconds later by a sound of footsteps hurrying over the walk to the house. She listened intently till the person below came up to the veranda steps and rattled a key in the door of the back hall. “There must be something wrong at the cottage,” she said, getting up and walking across the room, “and that is Joe.”
“Joe goes as a snake by the way, my princess,” said Mammy seizing a lamp and following her. “It is Vincent.”
Vivienne went out into the hall and looked down over the railing of the circular opening at the night-light burning outside Armour’s door.
Vincent was coming quietly upstairs. His feet made no sound in passing over the thick carpet and he had only to tap at Mr. Armour’s door to have it thrown open to him.
He said a few words in a low voice that they could not hear, then disappeared as quickly as he had come. In a very few minutes Armour emerged from his room, thrusting his arms into his coat as he hurried after his servant.
“O Ephraim, he that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face,” mumbled Mammy Juniper in a choking voice. “Keep the munitions, watch the way!”
“What is it?” exclaimed Vivienne; “what has happened? You speak knowingly.”
The old woman suddenly became calm. “Come and see,” she said quietly.