“Go whar—for the dear Lord’s sake?” said Dinah, who had that moment come up, and consequently had made but little progress in dressing Alice. “Go whar? Not down stairs—’strue as yer born. She’ll cotch her death o’ cold!”
“Hurry—do!” cried Alice, standing first on one foot and then upon the other. “I must tell Frederic something before he goes away. There, he’s going! Oh, Marian, help!” she fairly screamed, as she heard the carriage at the door, and Frederic in the hall below.
Marian was terribly excited, and in her attempts to assist, she only made matters worse by buttoning the wrong button, putting both stockings on the same foot, pulling the shoe lacing into a hard knot, which baffled all her nervous efforts, while Dinah worked on leisurely, insisting that Alice “wasn’t gwine down, and if there was anythin’ killin’ which marster ’or’to know, Miss Grey could tell him herself.”
“Yes, Marian, go,” said Alice, in despair, as she heard Dud bid Frederic good-by, and, scarcely conscious of what she was about, Marian ran down the stairs, just as Phil cracked his whip, and the spirited greys bounded off with a rapidity which left her faint call of “Stop, Frederic, stop!” far behind.
“I can write to him,” she thought, as she slowly retraced her steps back to Alice, who was bitterly disappointed, and who, after Dinah was gone, threw herself upon the bed, refusing to be comforted.
“Three weeks was forever,” she said, and she suggested sending Josh after the traveler, who, in a most unenviable frame of mind, was riding rapidly towards Frankfort.
“No, no,” said Marian, “I will write immediately, so he can get the letter as soon almost as he reaches New Orleans. It won’t be three weeks before he returns,” and she strove to divert the child’s mind by repeating to her as much as she thought proper of her exciting interview with Frederic.
But Alice could not be comforted, and all that day she lamented over the mischance which had taken Frederic away before she could tell him.
“There’s Uncle Phil,” she said, when towards night she heard the carriage drive into the yard; “and hark, hark!” she exclaimed, turning her quick ear in the direction of the sound, and rolling her bright eye around the room; “there’s a step on the piazza that sounds like his—’tis him—’tis him! He’s come back! I knew he would!” and in her weakness and excitement the little girl sunk exhausted at Marian’s feet.
Raising her up, Marian listened breathlessly, but heard nothing save Phil, talking to his horses as he drove them to the stable.