She went to the window and raised it, letting the chill breeze of the daybreak blow upon her face and neck. All the world in its dreary greyness spoke to her only of despair and death. Finally she felt Dicey's arm about her, gently drawing her back from the window. The strange look of visions was alive in the old slave's eyes once more, more burning and intense than ever.
"Yer kin sabe him, honey-chile, easy 'nuff," she whispered. "All yer got ter do is ter sen' word to Marse Sargent ter cum an' 'fend him."
A weary smile flitted across Natalia's lips as she thought of the old woman's love for her master. Then her face grew serious again.
"I'll do anything, Mammy. But he is not here. Where can I find him?"
"Yer jes' write de letter an' I'll make Jonas—dat's his body-servant—fetch hit ter him. I knows whar his wharbouts is. I'se been er keepin' up wid him for fo' days. Yer writes de letter an' he'll git hit ter him."
Natalia stared at her a moment, then going quickly to her desk, pulled out her portfolio. When the paper was spread before her she paused, thoughtfully.
"How strange," she said half aloud. "I remember it so distinctly now. He told me if I ever needed him—" her lips curved into the smile of the little girl, and the tears fell fast upon the sheet of paper.
Before the address was dry, Dicey was flying with it towards the town.
CHAPTER IX
THE HONOURABLE SARGENT EVERETT