She laid down her pen, pushed the paper aside, and covering her face with her hands, wept long and bitterly, Chloe watching her with tear-dimmed eyes.
"Precious chile," she said at length, "what kin yo' ole mammy do fo' her pet?"
"Nothing, mammy, unless you could persuade my father to forgive and love me again."
"Po' dear, he'll do dat befo' long; I'se pow'ful sure ob dat. Massa so fond ob you he kaint hole out much longer hisself. Was you gwine write sumfin' to massa, honey?"
"Yes, but I can't, because he forbade me to call him father or papa, and—and oh, I don't know how to call him anything else. Oh, mammy, I don't believe I can sleep at all to-night without his forgiveness!"
"Den 'spose my chile go an' ax massa fo' it."
"No, I dare not, because he forbade me to take any greater liberty with him than a stranger guest might, or to come into his presence till I could be calm; and I know I could not yet."
"Den yo' ole mammy gwine fo' you; an' dis am de bes' time, kase I s'pect massa by hisself in de parlor," she said, rising and leaving the room.
As she had expected, she found Mr. Dinsmore alone in the parlor. Dropping a courtesy, she stood before him with folded hands, waiting in respectful silence for an invitation to speak.
"Well, Aunt Chloe, what is it?" he asked.