“Dupré, call in your half-breed!” says the Colonel, directing it. “Let us hear what the fellow has to say for himself.”
“Tell Fernand to come hither,” commands the Creole, addressing himself to one of the negro lads waiting at table. “Tell him to come instantly!”
The boy hastens off to execute the order; and is several minutes before making re-appearance.
During the interval, they continue to discuss the circumstances that have so suddenly turned up; questioning Hawkins, and receiving from him minuter details of what he and his comrade have seen.
The additional matter made known but excites them the more, further intensifying their apprehensions.
They’re at their keenest, as the darkey re-enters the room with the announcement that Fernand is not to be found!
“What do you mean, boy?” thunders Dupré, in a voice that well-nigh takes away the young negro’s wits. “Is he not in the house?”
“Dat’s jess what he aint, Mass Looey. De Spanish Indyin’s no whar inside dis buildin’. We hab sarch all oba de place; call out his name in de store-rooms, an’ de coatyard, an’ de cattle closure—ebbery wha we tink of. We shout loud nuf for him to hyeer, ef he war anywha ’bout. He haint gib no answer. Sartin shoo he no inside o’ dis ’tablishment.”
The young planter shows dismay. So also the others, in greater or less degree, according to the light in which each views the matter.
For now on the minds of all is an impression, a presentiment, that there is danger at the bottom of Fernand’s doings—how near they know not.