"Hit's de bell on Massa Puckett's plantashun," Dicey said, after she had listened a few minutes in silence. "Sumthin's done happen. Mebbe his house done ketch fire. We kin go up ter yo' room an' see."
She had picked up Natalia and carried her toward the door, when she stopped again. The sound of a galloping horse out on the highroad came to them distinctly. Another minute and the horse had stopped before the gate and they could hear some one approaching the house.
Dicey lighted a candle and held it to the window. "It's only I, Dicey," Sargent Everett's voice came out of the darkness. "Is every one safe here? Mr. Puckett has been murdered and a crowd of men are out with the bloodhounds. They think it is some of Jacob Phelps' work."
Dicey opened the door, and held the candle high to light him in. "Ole Miss done tole me ter sabe yer some suppah. I knows yer's hungry and tired out. Come in heah and set down."
Sargent entered the room, the candle light gleaming on his dusty clothes and weary features. Before he had gone half way across the room he fell into the nearest chair, from utter exhaustion.
"How's our little girl, Dicey?" were his first words.
Dicey looked up from the tray she was placing on the table, and smiled, shaking her head knowingly.
"I reckon she's all right, now dat you'se back."
All the while Natalia was watching him from the dark corner in which she stood, noting the tired look in his eyes, and the strange new expression of excitement that made his face seem almost unfamiliar. Then suddenly she flew across the room toward him, and pressed both arms tight about his neck, gazing at him with eyes grown brilliantly black.
"I'm so—so glad you've come back!"