At this juncture, the door was flung open by old Dilsey. She stood a second on the threshold, as though paralyzed at the tableau before her. Mrs. Gilcrest leaned back in her chair, moaning and trembling; Betsy crouched by her side, in reality trying to pacify her mother, though apparently seeking shelter from her father, who stood before them with the uplifted whip. Then, her black eyes blazing, the negress sprang forward with the swiftness and fierceness of a tiger; and charging upon her master with such force as almost to throw him down, she seized his arm and wrenched the whip from his grasp.
"I said you had done gone plum crazy," she cried, "but I nebbah thought I'd lib teh see the day you'd raise yo' arm ag'in yo' own wife an' chile. Don' you dar' tech 'em! I'll p'otect 'em wid my life's blood!"
"Shut up, you old harridan!" returned Gilcrest. "Nobody's going to strike your mistress, or her daughter either. Take your Miss Jane to her room, and attend to her."
"I doan lebe dis room tell I speaks my min' 'bout yo' ongodly carryin' on an' yo' shameful 'buse ob my sweet lamb, my own Miss Betsy."
"Shut up, I tell you!" again cried Gilcrest.
"I woan shet up. I will speak my min'!"
"I'll cowhide you, you black witch!" shouted her master, threateningly.
"Whip me? Ole Dilsey? 'Deed you woan! Ef you lays de weight ob a fingah on me, I'll t'ar you limb f'um limb!" She faced him, arms akimbo, eyes snapping, and defiance in every line of her tall figure and in every fold of her red turban. "Does you think I'se feared ob you? Me, whut nussed an' tended you when you wuz a pore, sickly baby, an' bossed you, an' spanked yo' back sides many a time when you wuz a streprous, mis-che-vous boy?"
"Leave the room this instant!" cried Gilcrest, white with anger.