He crept nearer and stood close beside me and looked down at the body of Douw Fonda. But in my overwhelming grief I no longer noticed him.
"Why, sir," says he, "a devil out o' hell would have spared yonder good old man. But Sir John's people slew him. I saw him die. I saw the murder done with my own eyes."
Startled from my agonized reflections, I turned and gazed at him, still stunned by the calamity which had crushed me.
"I say I saw that old man die!" he repeated shrilly. "I saw them scalp him, too!"
I summoned all my courage: "Did—did you know Penelope Grant?"
"Aye."
"Is—is she dead?" I whispered.
"I think she is, sir. Listen, sir: I am Jan Myndert, Bouw-Meester to Douw Fonda. I saw Mistress Grant this morning. It was after sunrise and our servants and black slaves had been long a-stirring, and soupaan a-cooking, and none dreamed of any trouble. No, sir! Why—God help us all!—the black wenches were at their Monday washing, and the farm bell was ringing, and I was at the new barrack a-sorting out seed.
"And the old gentleman, he was up and dressed and supped his porridge along with me, sir; for he rose always with the sun, sir, feeble though he seemed.
"I——" he passed a cinder-blackened hand across his hair; drew it away red and sticky; stood gazing at the stain with a stupid air until I could not endure his silence; and burst out: